Human Element
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: Charlie is kidnapped! Or is he? An inexlplicable event causes Charlie to question his own sanity. Don beleives Charlie's mind is working just fine, and that something much darker is taking place. Rated for violence. Complete!
1. Rain, Rain, Go Away

Title: Human Element

Author: Stealth Dragon. a.k.a Silent Coyote. a.k.a Queen of the Beasties. a.k.a Demented wielder of the deadly Scythe of the Celts... okay I think that's enough of that, don't you?

AN: This is my first Numbers story – that I liked. I probably came up with about five ideas before finally settling on this one. Normally I do CSI New York stuff, but I love Numbers and really wanted to do a story, even though math is my antithesis - me being an English major and all (so there won't be a lot of math in this story, sorry.) I wanted to do a story where Don helps out Charlie using his own skills, and where Charlie goes a little nuts.

Synopsis: Charlie is kidnapped, or is he? Charlie begins to question his own sanity, but Don feels that Charlie's mind is working just fine, and that something much darker is going on.

Ch. 1

_Rain, Rain, Go Away..._

Don didn't get it. In all consideration that wasn't saying a lot. He never did get much of what Charlie did unless he put it into good old Laman's Term. But for once, what Don didn't get had less to do with math, and more to do with the mind that contemplated the equations.

With his feet propped up on the table of the conference room, Don was able to tilt his chair precariously back without the worry of falling. He stared with his head tilted to the side at the transparent board suspending that archaic language only his brother could translate. Mixed among the equations were various graphs, all with huge, angry Xs slashed over them.

Don knew better than to even try and understand the equations; it was Charlie he was trying to figure. All Charlie had needed to do was break the system being used to hide some stolen weapons by amateur smugglers. The smugglers - gang-bangers who in truth were in way over their heads, though they had beaten the Feds by moving the location of the goods they planned to sell on the streets. For a while, the smugglers were in the lead, since by the time Don's team found the place through tips and not so friendly coercion of suspects, the weapons were moved. But with what they knew, and what they had discovered, Charlie had worked his magic, and they were able to retrieve one crate of weapons that had yet to be transported – not to mention two of the gang members.

The equation had proved its worth, and even now Don's team was relying on it. They had surveillance set up at the three likely buildings to be used next, so the rest was just up to timing.

But was Charlie satisfied with the outcome? The messy Xs were like a massive, resounding no. Charlie had shifted from being obsessed with finding the system, which had only taken about two days to crack, to finding a pattern to when and how long it took for the weapons to be shifted to a new hiding place.

Being amateurs, Don was fairly certain the gang-bangers weren't organized when it came to timing. Then again, Don could be wrong, but according the frustration this was causing Charlie, Don didn't hold to that.

Don lifted his arms to place behind his head, then arched his back in a stretch until his spine popped. Since everything was now a matter of time, Don had nothing _but_ time on his hands.

Charlie could be so obsessive. Perfectionism was like an incurable disease within him. But the frustration, even urgency Don had seen on the normally placid features of his amiable brother, gave Don the impression that solving the problem was a matter of life and death. It wasn't the first time Don had seen that look. In fact, besides elation, it was one of Charlie's most common expressions. It was a look that at times verged on absolute fear, which was a pretty vicious contradiction for how Charlie should be feeling when doing equations. Math was Charlie's world, so logically it shouldn't be causing any misery for him what so ever.

Unless there was something else, something deeper. A consequence to being wrong other than simply being wrong. A lack of being unable to understand, perhaps? The only way to bring something into his world was to put it into number form? That alone might explain why he had done what he did during the time their mother had been dying. Death was hard enough even for those who faced it continually.

Charlie also hated guns, and what they meant.

But guns still weren't a reason to obsess over this case. So it must be the problem, and Charlie's need find a solution. He never could accept the chaos that was human behavior. The incident with the Charm School Boys should have taught him otherwise. Apparently not.

Don passed his hands over his head and down his face, then sighed. There was no getting Charlie.

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Had the equation been written on a piece of paper, Charlie would have ripped it up. In fact he had several times before transferring everything to the chalkboard. Now all he could do was erase the chalked numbers with jerking, furious strokes of the eraser. The moment the wild, numeric scribbles had all vanished, Charlie dropped the eraser and snatched up the chalk to begin again. Chalk tapped, squeaked, and scraped across the board, spitting out numbers and mathematic symbols like a machine.

" There's a pattern," Charlie said breathlessly. " There's always a pattern. No one can help creating patterns. They're everywhere, in everything we do. No way can these guys be that random."

Charlie had never been so certain of this in his life. Patterns were there, they just tended to hide themselves.

Charlie drew another graph, plotting points representing time in various aspects of hours, seconds, minutes, even days. The hum of the school's air conditioner was the only sound other than the tap of the chalk and Charlie's quick breathing. Apparently, Larry had given up on trying to talk to him, but Charlie could not say how long ago that had been. Amita had gone home long before that to finish up a project that was due in two days. Charlie could not have had a better setting to work in, and the quiet and solitude were already allowing Charlie a clearer line of thinking.

Trial and error. It was all about trial and error. Get the mistakes out of the way and take only what works. Charlie would figure this out. There was very little that numbers could not determine.

Except, perhaps, death.

The windows of Charlie's office pulsed with distant blue flashes, causing the lights to flicker and creating thunder so loud it vibrated in Charlie's bones. Charlie startled, dropping the chalk, and jerked his head around to look outside.

Everything was so dark that for a moment Charlie thought it was already night. More lightning flashed, followed five seconds after by thunder that shook the building, making Charlie flinch.

He would need to get home before it started raining, if it wasn't already - being too dark to tell. Yet he was close. He had to be. He was narrowing the problem down.

More thunder, closer this time. Charlie felt it again as though the sound were expanding in his chest.

No, it was time to go if he wanted to beat this storm. His father wasn't home to pick him up since he had said he would be out with some friends until late. And Charlie knew better than to ask Don. His older brother would be busy with something, and irritable with Charlie for being pulled away from it. Besides, Charlie did not feel like facing Don today. He would only continue his insistence that the equation, as it was, was good enough, and it wasn't. It could be better. It could catch these guys if it were complete.

Thunder practically cracked as though splitting the sky in two, and Charlie's heart slammed into his ribs. He did not allow his brain time to talk him out of anything, and quickly shoved his papers into his backpack. He then slung the bag over his shoulder, then grabbed his bike leaning against the wall and wheeled it out. He never did trust to locks, neither combination or key operated; too many ways of people getting them open.

The halls of the school were empty and echoed with Charlie's quick footfalls. Storms didn't usually give him the creeps, but coupled with the emptiness of the school, it was making his heart thud a little faster.

Going outside only made it worse. Winds were blowing strong, making the trees bend and creak, and the sky was an angry shade of gray. Charlie climbed onto his bike and stood up on the peddles to get the wheels going. Once the bike was off, Charlie pedaled faster onto the sidewalk leading away from the college. The wind whipped at his clothes and pushed against his body as though trying to pull him off. Charlie winced when sharp drops of cold rain stung his face.

Suddenly, the rain came like a million buckets of water being dumped at the same time. The torrent fell in sheets so thick that Charlie couldn't see anything in front of him, not even the next feet of sidewalk. Water beat against his back and soaked through his hooded sweater and T-shirt the moment it started coming down, and the cold of it was so shocking that for a moment Charlie's breath was snatched from his lungs. He slowed, ducking his head against it, and began shivering uncontrollably.

His dad wasn't going to like this. It was not as though Alan would ground him or anything, but the last time Charlie had biked home in the rain, arriving drenched to the bone and trembling, his dad had fussed over him as though he had contracted pneumonia. Which, according to his dad, is what he would get if he kept doing this.

There had yet to be any concrete proof that getting caught in the rain leads to diseases. but Charlie hated it when he caused his dad to worry.

Light flashed, thunder bellowed, and in his alarm Charlie sped up. He wanted to get out of this weather. He could barely see, and it was getting worse with the water that kept dripping into his eyes. The thunder also sounded closer, practically beating into him from above, and the lightning was flashing through the rain in a continual, random consistency.

Charlie's nerves were being pulled taut with each rumble and flash. He pushed on through the rain, squinting against it for some familiar building or sign.

A sudden gusting surge of wind ripped over Charlie. The wheels of the bike skidded on the slick sidewalk, wavering like wild. In his panic to regain control, Charlie veered, and the once level sidewalk became rough and uneven, jarring Charlie so that his pack began slamming into his spine. Charlie wasn't even pedaling anymore as gravity pulled the bike along. A hill, he was going down a hill, which was odd since he did not bike past any inclines, especially not ones this steep.

Charlie had no control over his bike, not even to brake since it would only send him flying head-first over his bike. Then, as though in mockery of his caution, the front wheel hit something that sent both him and the bike flying – head first.

Charlie was flipped, landing on his upper back with a crack and shocks of pain ripping through him. He began tumbling, rolling, and sliding the rest of the way through jagged rock and scrub until he finally, gradually, slid to a stop at the base.

Charlie lay there panting, wrapped in pain radiating from his back and spreading to his shoulders and neck. The pain, along with shock, lost breath, and dizziness, kept him immobile. He wanted to move, his brain screamed at him to move, but he was afraid to. He had landed on his back, felt the impact near his neck and felt sharp rocks tear into him. His head was also swimming, reeling between numb oblivion and painful reality.

The rain was stinging his face, and he couldn't even move his arm to pull his hood up. He could also feel it pelting his back, and the realization of this pushed through the haze of Charlie's mind. If he could still feel the rain, then that meant neither his back nor neck were broken. So why couldn't he move?

Charlie heard something through the rushing patter of falling water - crunching, rhythmic and slow; footfalls. The fog in Charlie's head gradually began seeping away as hope pushed it out. Help. Help was coming.

But before Charlie could find his voice, he felt an increase of pressure around his arm as it was being gripped. It was pulled away from him as whoever had his arm pulled him onto his feet with seemingly no effort. Charlie's arm was then draped around broad shoulders as his savior helped to half drag, half walk him across the drenched ground. The same person's own arm was wrapped around Charlie's chest. The rain was still too thick, and his brain fogged, for Charlie to see where they were going. Soon enough, however, he was out of the rain, and being taken through an enclosed place that echoed with their footsteps and smelled of rust, moisture, and dust.

Charlie was hauled deep within the strange place that seemed to go on forever. It was making Charlie nervous, and the movement was making his back hurt even worse. He was cold, and though the building was dry it was not warm.

Charlie also had yet to see his savior's face, as it was pitch black in this building. This person also had yet to say anything, even to ask if Charlie was all right. Whoever this person was, they were bigger than Charlie. Charlie's draped arm was up, not level or down, and the shoulders felt rounded and solid. There came no grunts of effort. In fact there seemed to be very little effort being utilized even with the person supporting most of Charlie's weight.

At the same time, though Charlie knew it wrong to complain, his rescuer was apparently taking little consideration of Charlie's current state. As they took to a stairway leading down, the grip on Charlie's wrist tightened until his shoulder felt attached to the socket only by a thread, while the arm around his chest became a vice that was making it harder and harder to breathe. When they reached the bottom of the steps Charlie began pulling at the arm, just to loosen it.

" Easy now," breathed a kindly male voice. " I've got you. Just a little farther now."

They stopped, and the man released the hold on Charlie's wrist. A minute later there echoed a thud, followed by an ear-rending shriek like metal tearing metal. The grip returned, and Charlie was dragged further into the strange place. Charlie's back was on fire, but he felt too afraid to say anything, even so much as let out a small whimper. It seemed such an irrational fear after hearing the man's soothing voice. But it had been such a strange kindliness, almost wistful and overdone, and only added to Charlie's growing unease of the situation.

Something was wrong, it was as simple as that. He should have been hauled to a car, or at least just a small ways into the building so that help could be called in over a cell phone. That was the way it was supposed to be.

Charlie wanted to say something, but could hardly breathe between the arm squeezing him and the pain he was in.

Suddenly, they stopped.

" I'm setting you down now," the man said. Charlie was gently lowered in sitting position onto a cold, dusty concrete floor with his back to something that felt and smelled of moldy wood. The moment the man released him, Charlie arched his back until the top of his head rubbed against the wood wall or whatever it was. It helped in only a small way to alleviate some of the pain, and for an even smaller moment. Neither curling forward or arching back made it any better, so he kept his spine stiff, drawing his knees up to his chest to wrap his arms around his legs.

It was freezing in his place. Water traced paths like fingers of ice down his back and sides, and his already tensed muscles pulled until it hurt, creating uncontrollable shakes throughout his skinny frame.

He was so caught up in his misery that for a moment he forgot about the man, his rescuer. Then lights suddenly blazed on that burned into Charlie's eyes. He jerked his head in alarm, then shrank when he heard the scrape and clomp of boots moving toward him.

A shadow surrounded Charlie. He looked up, squinting against the brightness, at the tall man looming over him. At first all that could be seen was a silhouette. Then the man crouched to be eye-level with Charlie.

He wasn't massive, as Charlie had first thought, but he was big. He looked to be around Don's age, with brown hair that was shaven close to the scalp and receding from the forehead. He was dressed in a light brown coat that dripped water, black T-shirt, jeans, and tan work-books like what a construction worker might wear. His eyes were steel blue, but Charlie found himself unable to hold the man's gaze. Charlie had never been good at holding gazes, especially when conversation concerning math was not involved. And the way the man was looking at him, studying him, was almost inexplicable. There was no emotion in his eyes, no look of concern or even curiosity. It was just a flat, empty stare as though the man were looking through Charlie at something else. The man was just as drenched as Charlie, and wasn't even twitching with cold because of it. It all seemed so unreal.

The silence stretched on forever. Charlie glanced up at the man several times for brief seconds, but paused when he saw the man smiling. Like the man's gaze the smile was strange, almost too happy, and it made Charlie's heart pound.

" You okay?" that man finally asked.

Charlie swallowed back the trepidation squeezing his throat. " Uh..."

" Wouldn't be alive if you weren't all right," the man interrupted, speaking quickly. " Am I right?" He lightly slapped Charlie's shoulder. " 'Course I am. Hey, listen, I gotta step out for a moment. You stay here, got it? 'Cause if you don't then I'm gonna have to break your neck."

Charlie's breath caught in his throat, and his heart faltered. The man's grin seemed a permanent feature of his face. He lightly slapped Charlie's shoulder again.

" Relax kid. You need to lighten up." He then stood, ripping Charlie's bag from his shoulder and dumping the contents until Charlie's cell clattered onto the floor. The man snatched it up then stepped around the large, rotten wood crate Charlie was sitting against. Charlie peered cautiously around it, so confused and frightened that he could barely breathe. He saw the man step through a large, sliding door and turn. The grin vanished more quickly than it had come.

" Seriously, stay here," he then slid the door shut, and Charlie heard a thud as some kind of lock was set in place.

Thunder rumbled like a throaty growl, and the lights flickered off, leaving Charlie alone in a void.

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A/N: Confused yet? Excellent. Warning – unpleasant moments ahead for poor Charlie. It also may be a while before Don makes another appearance, just in case you were wondering. I'm also not sure if I spell 'Laman's' right. Oh well.


	2. Kindred?

A/N: Dopey me, forgot the disclaimer, so here it is.

Disclaimer: I don't own Numbers... And you can't prove I own it coppers! Okay that made no sense. But I still don't own Numbers, or anyone affiliated with it.

Ch. 2

_Kindred?_

The pounding of the rain was a continuous, irreverent thudding above Charlie's head. It was the only other sound beyond his hollow, unsteady breathing and the more muffled thump of his rapidly pounding heart. Occasional flashes of lightening filled the rectangular windows many unreachable feet up the wall, filling the chamber with brief snatches of light and sight. It looked to be some sort of storage room, like a warehouse, but smaller. Pipes snaked all over the ceiling in perpendicular paths, bending at right angles without ever touching to vanish into the walls. The box Charlie huddled shivering against was one of many in various sizes all gathered on the side of the chamber Charlie was at. They were all showing – and smelling of – signs of rot. This place, whatever it was, probably hadn't been used for years, which was nothing uncommon for a big city. Buildings, especially on the outskirts, were abandoned all the time to eventually be demolished or rebuilt.

Thunder rumbled from far away. Charlie could not say how long the man had been gone. It felt like forever, but forever was not a true measurement of time. It was just an expression, a kind of hallucination born from fear, and so was not an answer. Charlie wanted a concrete answer, but could not read his watch even when the lightning flashed.

Was the man getting help? He must be getting help. Why else leave in a storm like this. He was probably trying to call for help on Charlie's phone, but needed to be where the signal came in clearer. It was the only logical explanation, and the more Charlie thought on it, clinging to it tenaciously like a drowning man to a life raft, the more logical it became until he absolutely believed it.

His pounding heart decreased into a steadier rhythm. Content in the idea of someone going to get help, Charlie focused his thoughts on the pain in his back. No amount of posture adjustments would ease it, but knew that when his dad had a bad back he usually went to lay down.

Charlie unwound himself from huddling with movements made slow by cold-stiff muscles. He pushed scattered papers out of his way, then carefully stretched out on the cold, gritty floor, gingerly rolling onto his back. The same instant his back touched the floor, he immediately rolled onto his chest with a hissing intake of breath and a wince of pain. After the throb abated, he found the position to be alleviating to a small degree. It scared him the thought of what might have happened to his back, of the unknown damage that could have occurred. Yes, he was walking and moving now, but he had heard stories from Don about people with injuries that start out as benign but manifest as severe just because they moved wrong or did not catch what was the greater threat soon enough.

Charlie's soaked clothes, which were freezing the rest of him, eventually served a purpose as they helped to numb the pain in his back some.

Then Charlie heard a thump, and the torturous grind of metal. Lights flared on and Charlie blinked rapidly against the brightness. Then he heard cheery whistling coupled with the thud of boot falls. The man stopped directly in front of Charlie. Charlie rolled his eyes nervously up toward the mans face. He was staring down at the young professor in deep perplexity like a child that had stumbled on something it had never seen before.

" What are you doing?" The man asked.

Charlie cleared his throat, and could feel his heart return to its rapidity. " Um... M-My back hurts. I was – I was just..."

" Get up," the man said, sounding slightly frustrated.

Charlie rolled onto his side and slowly pushed himself back up to sit against the box. He grimaced with the agony of it, planting his hands flat on either side to brace himself against it. The man moved to crouch before him, looking him up and down with mild interest as though eying a piece of merchandise.

" What's your name, kid?" he asked, still scrutinizing.

The more the man studied him, the more Charlie wished he could shrink out of existence. " Charlie." Charlie winced slightly. Had that been a wise thing to do? Charlie didn't know this man, or what kind of person he was. Don used to always say – never give your name away to just anyone."

" Charlie What?"

Charlie opened his mouth, only to clamp it shut. The man's gaze shot up suddenly, locking onto Charlie's eyes. And within that gaze, Charlie thought he saw a flash of anger like the flicker of a fire. The man then snapped his fingers continuously in front of Charlie's face.

" Hey, Chuck. _Chu-uck_. You in there, you awake? Snap out of it chuck, I'm askin' you a question. What, don't like questions? Wake up kid..."

" Eppes!" Charlie blurted just to get the man to stop. The man smirked, dropping his hand.

" Eppes? Chuck Eppes. good. That wasn't so hard was it? Here, to be fair I'll give you my name. Leon. That good? Cause that's all you're gonna get." Leon then began looking around at Charlie's scattered papers, books, notebooks, and laptop. " It's not a good thing to know the rest of my name." He then picked up several of the papers to gather them in a neat stack. " You into math Chuck?" He began flipping through the papers gradually, pausing on several and giving them a perusal of fascination. He then grinned, nodding as though in approval.

" Heavy stuff, Chuck. You do these yourself?"

Charlie nodded, so uncertain that he did not know whether to be afraid or intrigued by the man's interest.

" I can tell." He held up one of the papers, the one with Don's needed equation scrawled all over it, worked and reworked. " Nice, pretty conclusion you got here, Chuck. What'd you use it for?"

" You understand it?" Charlie asked hopefully. Only Larry and Amita ever understood the equations; the symbols and numbers that brought him to the needed answers. Only they could see how it all worked out, and where those answers came from. But even for them it took time for it to all register.

Leon's smile faded, and he lowered his arm holding the paper. " Yeah, I understand it. What, you think I'm an idiot? I'm a freakin' prodigy, man. This stuff is like two plus two to my brain, _Chuck."_

Charlie cringed at both the man's harsh tone and his constant use of the nickname Chuck. Charlie hated being called Chuck.

" Now what's it for!"

Charlie swallowed against the cold lump forming in his throat, and tried to hold himself back from shrinking away.

" I-it's to determine locations, based on a set of variables used to find patterns. I-it's being used to find something... But it's not ready," he added to change the subject before Leon asked anymore questions.

Leon flipped the paper around to stare at the equation. " Not ready?"

" Yeah. It's not perfect. It needs to be coupled with a pattern based on times..."

" You find this _something_ Chuck?"

" Please don't call me Chuck. I..."

Leon stood abruptly, towering over Charlie with eyes blazing in fury. " Can it! I'll call you whatever the crap I want! Did you find the place or not, Chuck?"

Charlie nodded numbly. What was going on?

" Then what the hell is your problem!" Leon crouched to grab a book, then stood, hurling it hard at Charlie. Charlie turned, covering his head with his arms so that the book glanced off his ribs. But before Charlie even had time to register the pain of it, Leon grabbed him by the shoulder of his sweater, forcing him to look back around and pinning him against the crate. Leon held the paper right in Charlie's face.

" Look at it. The child of your brain and it's not good enough? It finds a pattern, it finds a place, and you say it's not perfect? Even though it did as you asked?"

Charlie sucked in a fearful breath. " Th-the timing was – was off..."

" Screw the timing you little worm! You wanted it to find a place, it found a place. You've got your coordinates. Why isn't it good enough! Why is nothing good enough! You've got brains, and that isn't good enough. You a prodigy Chuck, like me? huh? You a kindred? Me and you, we get this stuff. But you gotta respect it, Chuck. You gotta give it the time of day, let it do it's job. 'Cause if you don't, then you don't deserve what you got..."

The man was rambling, talking faster and faster about brains, respect, and learning when to stop and when to keep going. None of it made any sense to Charlie as the words tumbled over eachother into near-incoherent babble; and the more Leon ranted the more Charlie's brain became addled by increasing terror. The man's eyes burned with both anger and passion, interchanging from one to the other without rhythm or even reason, as though fighting for dominance. And all Charlie could think clearly through his terror haze was: I'm going to die.

" It's fine, get over it!" Leon practically screamed. He then jerked his hand free from gripping Charlie. Leon stood, crumpling the paper in his fist. He threw it at Charlie, then delivered a vicious kick to Charlie's chest.

" Little ingrate," Leon snarled as Charlie curled into himself, hugging his chest where pain radiated out from his breastbone to his shoulders and collar bones. Charlie's lungs refused to recapture lost breath until the pain subsided into a throb, then he sucked it in raggedly.

Leon shook his head in disgust, then stomped off, cursing under his breath.

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What did I do wrong?

Charlie sat with his back flat against the crate, hands spread on the concrete floor, and knees drawn up. Each breath was a carefully calculated intake and exhale that kept the sound of it practically non-existent, and the rise and fall of his chest as methodical as a cautious footstep. It was as though Leon were a tiger, and one unchecked move would have him all over Charlie before he could blink.

Why is he so mad? If he knows, then he should see. Why doesn't he see?

But then again Leon did not know the full situation. The equation was not just about finding a place, but also about catching the bad guys. Perhaps if Charlie could explain it in such terms... But it was a classified case. Charlie could explain nothing.

Where was help? Why am I still here? What's going on?

Charlie wanted desperately to ask. But more than that he wanted to leave. He felt sick with apprehension and his body ached fiercely from muscles pulled taut enough to snap. Then there was his back, one more pain on the ever growing mountain.

Charlie heard the crunch of footsteps, but was already tense as any human could get, shivering both with cold and terror. His heart felt as though it were trying to crawl into his throat, and even his lungs seemed to be trembling as each breath quavered.

Leon appeared suddenly from around to crate to crouch like a high-strung cat before Charlie. " Hey Chuck."

Charlie flinched in alarm and his heart lurched in one painful beat as though trying to pummel itself. Leon placed his hand on Charlie's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

" Listen, man. Sorry about the little outburst. Didn't mean a thing, honest. I mean, it's nothing against you. It's just... It really boils me when people aren't satisfied, you know?" Leon grabbed the wad of paper, then gently began unfolding it as though handling something extremely delicate. Once unraveled, he set it on the floor and slowly passed his hands over it, smoothing it out as best he could. " You do good work kid," he said as he looked the numbers and symbols over. " Love math. I may not seem the type, but there's just something about it." Leon smiled wistfully. " It makes everything so freakin' predictable, you know? Of course you know. You're like me. We're kindreds, me an' you. We get this crap, and we know how to use it."

Leon's head suddenly snapped up, pulling Charlie into his unfathomable gaze and holding him there. He held up the paper and tilted his head to one side, sucking in a sharp breath.

" Why can't you be happy with it, huh, Chuck?"

Charlie saw it again, the flicker of anger within the blankness. Charlie's chest tightened and moisture blurred his vision.

" What's the matter Chuck?" Leon asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Then he rose to his feet, tapping Charlie's foot with his own booted one. A hot tear rolled lazily down Charlie's face, continuing over his jaw and down his neck.

" Why're you cryin' kid? Come on, man, lighten up."

Another tear fell. Charlie wanted it to stop but it wouldn't, not with the terror that kept building and building, pressing in on Charlie like a smothering blanket until he couldn't even swallow.

" Come on, stop crying. Stop it. You don't need to get upset. Come on..." Leon stepped closer. " I said stop it! Stop it! Stop crying now you pathetic little wuss!"

Charlie shrank, covering his head in expectation of having something thrown at him. " I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me, I'm trying..." But now Charlie was now sobbing uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Charlie was grabbed by his shirt front and thrown onto the floor chest first. Once Charlie was sprawled, Leon stepped around him, then delivered a nasty, swift, vicious kick to his ribs. The pain of it was far worse than when the book had struck him, worse than the pain in his back. Charlie curled into himself, hugging his side and trying to force the snatched air back into his lungs.

" There, much better." Leon said, pacing back and forth beside Charlie like an agitated cougar. " I hate crying," he said in pure disgust. " Crap, man, grow a freakin' spine! You know you haven't even once tried to take me down? What's you're problem, huh? Not even gonna try to fight?"

Charlie moved his head to look up at his captor. Leon stared down at Charlie, every line of his hardened face oozing loathing and malice. A lump of ice settled in the pit of Charlie's stomach. With one arm still hugging his side, he used the other to carefully push himself back away from the man towering like a stalking beast over him.

" W-Why am I here?" Charlie asked without thinking, speaking his confusion out loud. " Where am I?"

Leon's expression went unreadable, then a smile slowly crept onto his face. He crouched, Taking Charlie by the collar on either side of his neck. He then lifted Charlie back into sitting against the wall, and slapped him on the shoulder.

" You're kind of like a mouse, you know that, brother? A small, timid, weak little mouse of a man. I know it sounds harsh but... come on. It's about freakin' time you asked me these questions. A braver man would have asked them the moment he started getting hauled into a weird place."

Charlie blinked in confusion. " I thought you were trying to help. I thought you were calling for help."

" No, I just stepped out to clean up a few things. Listen, Chuck, I'll level with you. I didn't drag your scrawny butt all the way in here out of the kindness of my heart. Now, I like you, despite the fact you're such a coward. We're both on the same level here, both great thinkers. But I've got a little problem, and your just the right guy to help me with it. You're small, you're easily intimidated, you're young. Everything I need if worse comes to worse. Because if it does come down to it, and things for me go bad, you're going to be my ticket out. I need you as my shield, Chuck. My space in between."

Charlie knew he shouldn't ask, but found he couldn't help it. " Between... What?"

Leon smirked an incredulous smile, throwing up his hands as though Charlie should have already known the answer. " Me an' the cops."

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A/N: Okay, sorry for the shortness of this one. I was going to keep going with it, but found the above statement to be an excellent chapter end. I need to plan the next chapter out carefully. Strange things are about to occur. Very strange indeed. And what of Don? Is he looking for Charlie? Is the team all over this? Those questions will be answered in time. All I can say is... you'll see. (Though not necessarily in the next chapter.)


	3. Method to Madness

A/N: Instead of using Terry, I have decided to go with the new profiler, Megan. Of course she's not in this chapter. I just wanted to make it clear for future reference.

Ch. 3

_Method to Madness_

There was no true way to calculate Leon's shifts in mood, but that did not mean a pattern could not be found. Charlie took in the man's distaste for crying and weakness as starts in creating a mental list of Leon's quirks. Charlie's terror would not abate, but he had managed to rein it in enough to think and allow survival instincts to guide him. And the first thing that instinct told him was to try and keep Leon from hurting him anymore.

And the only way to do that was to think. Leon was bigger and stronger, Charlie small and injured, so any thoughts of a physical attack were completely out of the question.

Logic, just use logic. Think reasonably.

Leon had become wholly fascinated by Charlie's equations, and not just the one for Don. He started asking questions of the kind only someone on Charlie's level would know to ask, and made mention of equations and mathematicians only a fellow math enthusiast would know of. As Leon perused Charlie's work he would pace with the stiff agitation of excitement, then crouch in front of Charlie to point something out.

Charlie studied Leon, watching him carefully, as he paced, spoke, and asked. But Leon's discussions, his points, ideas, and theories, amazed Charlie. Slowly, the terror that had been choking him subsided as he fell into the rhythm of discussion and answer, as though a part of some grand debate with an old colleague. For a brief moment he forgot what had frightened him about Leon. Then Charlie shifted position, and felt his side flare up, and so remembered. It confused him, even agitated him, that he should be so afraid of Leon one moment and so amiable with him the next. It was as though his brain could not decide whether to loathe or admire the volatile man. It made Charlie's hands tremble with unease, and his heart pound non-stop. But as long as Leon engaged him in discussions of math, the terror could not take another choke-hold on him.

Charlie still remembered to watch for mood shifts, and to be careful not to fall into an argument on some mundane theory.

Then Leon stopped, looking up as though realizing something. " I'm hungry," he said. He then dropped the paper he had been looking over and quickly strode from the room, sliding the door shut behind him and thumping the lock into place.

Charlie did not pause to consider the oddity of this. With one hand pressed gingerly to his side, he used the other to push himself to his feet with a grimace. Leon had left the lights on that filled every corner of the chamber. Charlie wandered the room though he did not know what it was he was looking for. The windows, still dark from rain clouds, were too high up to reach, even if he could stack the crates without worrying about the rotting wood breaking under his weight. So Charlie headed for the sliding door. It was tall and wide enough to allow crate loaders through, made from white metal splotched with rust like massive blood stains. There was an iron handle to haul the door open, and that was it.

Charlie headed back to his spot on the other side of the crate. He sat, staring at the wall across from him numbly. The blocks forming the wall were chipped with flaking paint, and rust stains ribbed them all the way up to the ceiling like the twisted bars of a cage. Despair settled in Charlie's chest like a led weight. Glancing around his area, he saw one of his pencils within arms reach, so stretched and grabbed it. He then took one of his spiral notebooks and began calculating, only to find that he couldn't. He didn't know why the police were after Leon, or how desperate Leon was to get away. Then there were the moods shifts, and Leon's interchanging loathing of Charlie and his impression that Charlie was his 'kindred', his equal in mind. Charlie had nothing concrete he could work with. The situation was neither stable or unstable, rising or falling; it simply was, and could go on forever if it wanted to unless Leon finally decided to just kill Charlie.

Charlie's only surety in this situation was Don, because Don was always a surety. Not simply because Don was FBI and good at it, but because Don was always there. Protective big brother was as much a part of Don as his own heartbeat, and he manifested it as naturally as breathing. Don was forever making casual remarks on how much Charlie was sheltered, and yet sheltered just as much. He hid from Charlie the things he thought his little brother could not handle, and became agitated when Charlie crossed that line of what Don thought Charlie should not _have_ to handle. It was that simple; Don would find Charlie, and Charlie did not need any formula to tell him so.

This hope was enough to keep the despair from overwhelming him, so Charlie set aside probability and refocused on trying to find the pattern of time the smugglers were using. It was not merely something for Charlie to do to pass the time. Focusing on the problem helped to narrow Charlie's thoughts, and keep him from considering the what ifs, such as what if Don does find him, and Leon uses Charlie as his 'between'.

Time became irrelevant to Charlie, so even had he been asked he could not have said how long Leon had been gone. The thump of the lock and the wailing grind of metal practically caused Charlie to jump from his skin. Charlie slapped the notebook shut and slid it away, then grabbed the nearest piece of paper and began looking it over as though he had been working on it the whole time.

Charlie could smell the food before he even heard Leon's footsteps, and it made his stomach grumble despite his lack of appetite. Carefully, Charlie leaned to the side and peered around the crate. He saw Leon sitting Indian style on the floor, opening a white paper sack and pulling out a burger. As he unwrapped it, Leon looked up to see Charlie watching, then shrugged apologetically.

" Sorry Chuck. Couldn't buy two bags. Might look suspicious. Besides, I find keeping people hungry makes them less of a pain in the butt to deal with."

Cold shot down Charlie's spine to go ripping through his nerves. Keeping people hungry. It sounded as though Leon had done this before.

" Got you this, though," Leon said, then rolled a small bottle of water toward Charlie. Charlie took it, and slipped back behind the crate so as not to watch Leon eat. Suddenly the thought of not having anything to eat for a long time brought Charlie's appetite back with a vengeance. He opened the water and took a few small sips. For all he knew, this was the only bottle he would be getting for some time, if Leon felt the same about people being dehydrated.

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Leon had not been kidding about keeping Charlie hungry. The man came and went as he pleased with no pattern time wise to any of it. If he was hungry, he got food, bored he did whatever it was he did to alleviate it, and most of the time he did not say why he was going. He talked to Charlie about math, which helped to calm Charlie's frayed nerves, but not stop his continual shivering. Even with his clothes dry he still felt cold. Then again, perhaps it was fear.

Hunger was making it hard to think - and with every fast food sack Leon brought back, the hunger grew more painful. Charlie's head felt light and detached, but his body heavy and sluggish. He gave up on working equations, including Don's, and finally succumbed to his body's protest at having to move. He curled up on the floor against the box, lying on his non-throbbing side, but did not expect to go to sleep. Hungry as he was, not even an empty stomach could get rid of his tension. Charlie bent his head forward until his neck popped, then moved his arm up under his head to keep it level with his spine. He coughed, but the itch in his lungs he just tried to expel would not leave.

" Hey, Chuck," Leon said through a mouth full of partially chewed food. " You ever solve those impossible theorems? The ones worth some money if proved?"

Charlie sighed wearily. " No."

" Really? Ever try?"

" Yeah."

" Yeah?" Which one?"

Charlie furrowed his brow. There were many he had tried, but mostly out of bored interest or for fun. There was only one that held any deeper meaning for him, an obsession he both despised and feared, because it always came at the bad times.

Leon began listing off the algorithms, theorems, and so on. "... and that one – PvsNP. You every try that?"

Just hearing it made Charlie cringe as the obsession tried to creep back into his mind to occupy all thought.

" Chuck!"

Charlie winced. " Yeah, yeah... I-I tried..."

" Really? Get anywhere?"

Charlie thought back. Had he? He didn't remember any more. All he remembered was the agony of pushing on, pushing through, while despair and pain clawed at his back for his attention. And the more it clawed, the deeper he would go, drawing his world in smaller and smaller until it was only him and the equation. He had drowned himself in that problem.

" S-sometimes," Charlie said, just to give an answer.

" You still working at it?"

Charlie shook his head though he knew Leon could not see. " I can't."

" You can't? Why the hell not? Solving that thing would make you a king, man."

Charlie curled his fingers into a fist until his nails bit into his palm. He could feel the desire to drown himself in the problem welling up inside him like a tidal surge. He wanted to get lost in it, to narrow his world until he forgot everything else around him. Just for a little while, just to forget.

But that was how it always started; as a need to forget. But Charlie had said, promised without verbally making the promise, to never work on it again – to give it up. It was an addiction, and addictions did no one any good.

" I said I wouldn't."

For a moment, there was silence.

" Wouldn't? Why?"

Charlie swallowed nervously. He didn't want to say, it was too hard to explain.

" Why?" Leon said with a darker edge to his voice.

" Because I can't stop," Charlie blurted, feeling suddenly small and pathetic. " I start, and I can't stop, so I ignore everything else. I ignored my mom dying, my brother needing help..."

" Woe, hold up," Leon said. " What do you mean? You ignored your mom when she was dying?"

Charlie mentally shrank even smaller, and felt the old sickness of self-disgust tightening in his gut. " I... panicked. I..." It was hard thinking back on it. It always was. Charlie thought back often in hopes of understanding, but found only pale justifications for what he had done. " I was just trying to clear my head. I just needed some time. But I couldn't stop..."

Charlie heard Leon snort out a derisive laugh. " Then she was gone, right? No good-byes, no last visits. You just shut yourself in some crappy little room, and did some math. You left her alone when she probably needed you the most because you couldn't handle it, and thought only of yourself. You really are a wuss, Eppes; a selfish wuss."

Charlie's eyes burned with tears, and every beat of his heart seemed to hurt. He could not ignore the truth of Leon's words. Charlie had been selfish. He had been thinking of himself. He recalled Don saying something similar.

Why didn't you visit her! She needed you! She called for you! You're freakin' selfish, Charlie, you know that? I can't believe you!

" Man," Leon went on, " had you been my kid or brother, I would have beat the snot out of you for that."

A tear fell hot and stinging down Charlie's numb face.

" Hey Chuck. Chuck! You still with me? You'd better not be crying."

Charlie quickly wiped his eyes on his shoulder.

" Selfish, man. Probably feeling sorry for yourself right now."

There came a loud, sharp thud that made Charlie cringe. Leon must have kicked the door, and Charlie could now hear the stomp, scrape, and slide of Leon pacing.

" You have no right to feel sorry for yourself! You're a coward! You aren't even worth having as a shield, and you know why? Because no one's gonna care if you live or die, _Chuck_. No one!"

Then, to Charlie's horror, Leon came around the crate, taking long, quick strides straight at Charlie. Anger blazed not just in the man's eyes but throughout his whole being. Before Charlie could even scramble to his feet, Leon had him by the collar. He lifted the smaller man up as though Charlie weighed nothing, then threw him into the wall. Charlie hit his back in a fresh torrent of agony, and slid dazedly down the wall. When he reached the floor, Leon balled up his fist and struck Charlie hard in the side of the face, causing Charlie's head to snap around. Charlie fell to the floor with points of light and patches of dark pulsating before his eyes. Then more pain when Leon kicked him several times in the ribs, the same area where Charlie had first been kicked, until Charlie couldn't even suck in a breath.

Charlie was vaguely aware of Leon's hand wrapping around the back of his neck and squeezing slightly – not to choke but to restrain.

" You've got blood on your back, man," Leon said, sounding strangely disappointed as though Charlie had just messed up his best shirt. Then, new horror took hold when Charlie, his head beginning to clear thanks to fear, felt Leon pull the back of the sweater, then shirt, all the way up to the base of Charlie's head. Sharper cold hit Charlie's skin like a slap, and nausea threatened to come burning up his throat.

Charlie squirmed, but the hold on his neck only tightened. He could feel Leon's calloused hands probing and pulling at the scabs on Charlie's upper back. Charlie squirmed even more trying to pull away in sickened desperation.

" W-What are you doing!"

There came sharp pressure focused directly in the middle of Charlie's spine.

" Hold still! Quit moving!" Leon snarled. " Your backs all sliced up. This is nasty!"

The pressure increased, and Charlie did not have to see to know that Leon had his knee on him as further restraint.

" It's gonna get freakin' infected! Why didn't you say anything!" Leon grabbed a handful of Charlie's dark hair and pulled his head back until the neck-bone felt folded perfectly in half. He could now see Leon's face, his gritted teeth and eyes wild with unchecked fury, as though every pent up emotion he ever held had been set lose.

" Why didn't you say anything, you freakin' coward! Why didn't you say anything!" He screamed. Then Leon smashed Charlie's forehead into the concrete, and Charlie slipped into black oblivion.

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A/N: Poor Charlie. See? Unpleasant. I would like to thank everyone who commented. I'm trying to work quickly enough to get the next chapters out, but I can't work too quickly or it won't be good. And if you think you know where this story's going, hold on to that thought. You may be in for a surprise.


	4. Just go, and Keep going

A:N/ Wow! Thanks for all the spiffy comments. So many in just a few chapters. Very encouraging. I'm glad it's being enjoyed, and that you are so confused. It was the effect I was hoping for. I wanted something surreal, and if I can accomplish it with this story then there is hope for my own stories.

Ch. 4

_Just go, and keep going..._

Charlie awoke, and wished he hadn't. Charlie was not a heavy drinker, whenever he drank at all. He did not like the idea of chemicals fogging up his brain and distorting his linear mindset. However, he was fairly certain that the pain exploding within his skull must be what it was like to have a hangover.

Charlie's sticky eyelids peeled apart but revealed only blue-gray darkness and vague, fuzzy shapes. Then Charlie rememberer.

Leon. His fury. Pain.

Charlie was in pain now; his back, face and ribs. He was sore to the point that he could hardly even twitch a finger, and there was a strange weight on his back as though something were lying on top of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, shivering. He coughed and his side seemed to crack. He let out a small gurgle of pain, then froze, straining his ears for the slightest sound. There came no scrape, no footfalls, no angry words. Leon was gone.

Charlie inhaled a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, but the relief he wanted to feel was only a temporary twinge. Leon would be back, and find something else to be angry about. The man was like nitroglycerin.

But why? What was Charlie doing wrong? Why was Leon doing this?

_Because you deserve it._

A new kind of pain constricted Charlie's heart.

_A Coward and selfish._

Charlie forced his arms to move, pulling them up against his sides, then paused.

Something wasn't right.

The floor felt exceptionally gritty today, as though dirt had been poured on it. Then Charlie curled his fingers, feeling what should have been solid concrete give way as his fingers dug into it. His heart pounded with confusion so that Charlie could hear it thumping through the floor.

No, not the floor.

Charlie's muddled senses seemed to shoot to life as terror forced his brain to try to make sense of things. Instead of dust and mold Charlie smelled earth and moisture. Instead of stale air, there was a cool breeze toying with his hair and brushing along his face. Charlie blinked rapidly several times until the film over his eyes finally cleared. He saw, twitching and bending before him, a clump of dried weeds. He then rolled his eyes up to a sky overcast with dark gray clouds. Charlie was outside.

The shock of this made Charlie forget his pain and terror. He pushed himself to his knees and glanced around in both confusion and wonder. He was outside. He was free.

The hill Charlie had tumbled down was directly in front of him, and behind him – some distance away – was the warehouse standing empty and alone. The many windows were shattered, the outer wall chipped and paint-flecked, and the pavement and road leading to it cracked and weed-choked.

Charlie continued his disbelieving scrutiny of his open surroundings, then did a double take on what he saw next. His bike was only a few feet away from him. Then Charlie remembered the weight at his back, which was now on his shoulder. He reached up and felt the cloth strap of his back pack. He yanked it from his shoulder and ripped the zipper open to stare slack-jawed at his books, papers, and laptop nestled safely inside.

Charlie began panting, furrowing his brow. " What?" He looked around again from his bike to the building and then to the hill. He began trembling. He looked back at the building, then to his bag.

This wasn't right. Charlie looked around again, and again, trying to think, trying to understand. Had Leon been that disgusted with him? Had he thought Charlie dead and dragged him out?

Or had it been a dream.

Charlie's hand went to his side that throbbed unmercifully. But that could have happened in the fall, the same with his face. Then he reached back, feeling beneath his sweater and shirt the scabs that stung when he touched them. He remembered with nausea Leon pulling at the scabs as though trying to rip them open.

Leon. His fury, his fist, his boot striking bone. How could that be a dream?

Leon had needed me, Charlie thought. He needed a hostage. So why am I out here? Why not just kill me if he didn't want me around any more?

Back and forth, Charlie's thoughts battled eachother with logic, with neither side winning. He looked back at the cold building with its black windows like empty eye sockets. Right now, it did not matter what the truth was. He needed to get away, he needed to get home.

With his mind still battling, Charlie pushed himself painfully to his feet, pausing when his head swam and the world spun. After it cleared enough for him to catch his balance, he moved slowly toward his bike and picked it up. He then bent to grab his bag, wincing when the muscles of his back were pulled. He slung the bag on the handle of his bike, then wheeled it along the base of the hill until he found the disheveled road leading from the warehouse. He followed it as it rounded the hill to where it was less steep and climbed. Charlie past a few spindly trees, then an abandoned gate with no windows. Beyond the gate was paved road and a sidewalk, which Charlie took to.

I felt everything; being dragged, kicked, punched...

But the pain from the fall could have made the dream real...

Somehow, between the constant back and forth debate of his mentality, Charlie found his way. He paid little attention to anything around him; not buildings, cars, the few people passing by giving him odd looks, or the increasing heaviness of his limbs. He even ignored someone asking him if he was all right and needed help. Charlie heard the voice, but found it more an interloper of his concentration, so paid little attention to it except to say " I'm fine."

And somehow, perhaps by instinct or from mere habit, Charlie entered his neighborhood just as night came with a light mist and cold air. Charlie shivered as moisture seeped into his clothes and drizzle spat in his face. Then he was home, but noticed only how odd it was that there was no car in the driveway, and no lights on in the house. Charlie, moving like a robot controlled by years of custom, wheeled his bike into the garage. He took his bag, dragging it along the ground since his arm seemed unable to lift it.

The fear was so real. Leon's anger even more real.

But dreams could be very real when they wanted.

Charlie climbed the stairs leading from the garage to the house. His legs began to tremble, and he slipped, bashing his knee against the step and knocking his sore chest. He cried out in agony and exhaustion, and for a moment stayed where he was, shivering fitfully as tears poured down his face. But he was cold, and tired of being cold, so crawled the rest of the way up, pulling himself to his feet on the last step. He reached into the pocket of his sweater for his house keys, but found the door already unlocked when he used them. So he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Everything was dark and quiet. Charlie stood with his back to the garage door, still trembling and feeling like a stranger in his own home. He did not know what to do now, and there was no one around to tell him.

Why wasn't anyone home? Where was his dad? Where was Don?

Charlie felt suddenly sick, and realized he was hungry. But more than that he was cold, and extremely tired. He did not remember ever being so tired to the point that his bones felt twenty pounds heavier.

There was also a strange feeling about him, as though small and unseen insects were crawling all over his flesh. Charlie released his death grip on his bag, then turned automatically and headed up the stairs to the bathroom. His head felt as though it were floating, as though everything around him were a dream. He was only partly aware of the warm shower that took away the cold, and him scrubbing with a cloth at the scabs. When he looked at the cloth, he saw blood on it. When he finished, he wrapped himself in a towel and went to his room. He clicked on the lamp, then grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a red T-shirt, and dressed, forgetting the cuts.

Leon had not made sense... like a dream.

Charlie headed back downstairs and clicked on the light in the kitchen. He was hungry, and yet at the same time had no real appetite. So he took out a can of tomato soup, opened it with the electric can opener, dumped it in a bowl and heated it in the microwave. He then got a glass of milk. He took both into the dining room, setting them before him, along with a spoon. He sat, clasping his hands together in his lap, and stared blankly at the wall before him.

Maybe this is the dream.

Charlie's heart would not stop pounding, and his hands, even clenched, would not stop shaking.

Was it a dream?

Charlie did not want to think on it anymore, but his mind just kept going...

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"... Yeah, I already thought of that, dad," Don said, squinting against the eye-burning headlights of a passing car. Colored spots danced in Don's vision after the car drove on. " ... Yeah, I got David on that. I'm going to take Charlie's route to school again tomorrow, so don't even think about taking it on your own, in the dark, with a flashlight. Not again. Just come home dad, you need to take a break... Yeah... Yeah... I know he's still out there. Just a small one, dad. Come on, you need it. You'll be able to search better... Okay... see you at the house."

Don flipped his phone shut with one hand then set it on the seat beside him, the seat that on any other day might have been occupied by Charlie. He was aware of the empty seat through the corner of his eye, and glanced at it twice with a tightening in his chest and a churning stomach. The only time he had ever felt this scared was when he had that bank robber's gun pointed at his face. It had scared Charlie pretty bad too.

Was Charlie scared now, where ever he was?

Don rubbed the side of his face with one hand, attempting to clear the sleep trying to weigh his eyelids down. He couldn't help thinking such thoughts. Fear wouldn't let him stop. Outside he maintained a picture of perfect control. Inside he could hardly breathe.

Charlie missing. Charlie gone. In his head they were just words, but they would not go quiet. It made Don realize how much more different, even unusual, it was when the person he was searching for was his own brother. When the case was his own brother. He had done so many missing people searches, handled a numberless account of kidnappings, all with the same kind of urgency spurning him on. The urgency still fueled him, but he felt strange, almost helpless. No matter what he told himself, or how many times he said it, this could not be handled as any other case, not internally. Charlie had once, non-discreetly, commented about being detached, which Don had taken as a personal remark, though he had admitted himself as being detached.

Apparently, Don wasn't as detached as he had thought. But then again it wasn't exactly possible to be detached when it was his brother's life that was the issue.

For some reason, Don's focus on why Charlie was missing would not stop dwelling on kidnapping. There were other possibilities: Charlie getting lost, getting hurt in an unknown place. Yet Don's thoughts kept going straight for the worst. He had done checks on those criminals Charlie had both helped find _and_ personally met, such as the men who had stolen the radioactive material. But they were all safely in prison, or wanting nothing more to do with Don and his brother. Even that kid, that computer whiz (Don had forgotten his name, which alarmed him) held nothing against Charlie. In fact he had appeared genuinely sorry that he was missing. Meagan had said so after listening in on the interview.

It could be a personal vendetta against Don, but then there would have been some letter, e-mail, video or some form of visual message sent to Don to torment him. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to say that Charlie had been kidnapped. Yet it was not enough to push the thought back as only a mere possibility and not fact.

Don pulled into the driveway of his childhood home, all Charlie's now. He noticed a light on in the kitchen, but did not see his dad's car.

Must have forgot to turn it off, Don thought. Sighing wearily, Don turned off the ignition, opened the car door, and slid his heavy body from the seat. He had hassled his dad about getting rest. He needed to hassle himself.

Don headed up the sidewalk to the front door and, to his chagrined, found it unlocked. His dad had insisted on keeping the door unlocked just in case Charlie showed up and had lost his keys. Don shoved his car-keys into the pocket of his jeans and moved into the dining room to head to the kitchen.

Then Don froze.

The news of a missing loved one was always followed by the involuntary looks at doors or in rooms, and the expectation of seeing that loved one coming through those doors or sitting in those rooms.

But to see what was supposed to be a mind trick become fact caused Don's mind to reel dizzily, and his perceptions to flip. He took a step back, half-expecting Charlie to disappear, while at the same time wanting to run to him, embrace him, and know that he was real.

The young professor was sitting before a partially eaten bowl of soup and a half-full glass of milk. His normally curly hair hung limp and shiny as though wet, and there were dark-brown stains on the upper part of his faded red shirt. His dark brown eyes were staring empty at the wall, with his hands clasped on his lap and his shoulders hunched as though he were cold. In fact, Don could see the twitches and slight jerks indicative of someone shivering.

Don took a shuddering breath, realizing that he had stopped breathing the moment he saw Charlie. Don could see Charlie's gaze from where he stood. He had assumed it to be blank, but Don did see something in that far-off gaze. Confusion, fear... Sorrow? Don approached slowly as one would to a frightened animal. He saw wet traces on Charlie's face that could only be tears.

Don tilted his head slightly to one side. " Charlie?"

Charlie's mouth twitched. " Hey Don." His eyes never even wavered from the wall.

Don creased his brow in consternation. " You okay buddy?"

" Sure."

As Don neared, his eyes moved from Charlie's face to the back of his neck, then his back. The stains on the shirt did not look like they had been made from water, and they still looked wet.

" You sure about that?" Don asked. Charlie jerked his head up and down in a nod.

" Fine." He then stood slowly, taking his bowl and glass from off the table. He turned, about to head into the kitchen, when Don reached out a hand to stop him.

Don had yet to even touch Charlie when he flinched, causing soup to slosh all over his arms. He moved away from Don, shrinking slightly, and continued on into the kitchen. He deposited the bowl and glass into the sink, then wiped his arm on a dish towel and headed out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

Don followed. " Charlie, wait," Don said in an almost commanding voice, reaching out once again. This time the tips of his fingers brushed against Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie whirled around so suddenly that Don couldn't help being startled. Charlie seemed to shrink into himself, hunching his shoulders and rubbing his arm up and down with a shaking hand. He began backing away from Don in no particular direction, his gaze going everywhere except for Don.

" P-please don't..." he said with a voice trying to remain calm but cracking slightly.

Don blinked in surprise, and tried again to reach out for Charlie. Charlie backed quickly away as though Don's hand were a poisonous snake. He bumped into the couch, only to maneuver around it, then held up a shaking hand as though to ward Don back.

" D-don't touch me. Just... Just don't, okay? Please don't..."

Don dropped his hand immediately and backed off. " Yeah, okay man. Just calm down, all right? Can you tell me where you were, what happened?"

Charlie stopped backing away, but still refused to meet Don's gaze. " What... happened?"

" Yeah, buddy, what happened? Where were you?"

Charlie's forehead scrunched in uncertainty. " Where?"

Don shoved back rising frustration by running his hand through his hair. Yes, he wanted answers, but looking at his brother made answers suddenly trivial. Charlie was so pale, eye and cheek bruised, his eyes sunken and shadowed. And the look in his eyes – Don had never seen such a look, not even when their mother had died. There was so much confusion in Charlie's gaze it became a visual representation of the turmoil roiling like a storm in Charlie's skull.

" I was... Gone?"

" Yeah, Charlie, you were gone. You've been gone for three days. Where were you?"

Charlie's mouth moved but no words came out. The shaking in his hands became in all out trembling, which spread to wrack his thin frame. He brought his hand to his head, rubbing at his temple as he often did when he was in deep thought or agitated.

" Three... Three – days?"

Don watched helplessly as he witnessed the gradual breakdown of his little brother. The confusion became almost palpable, then moisture flooded Charlie's eyes. He blinked, and tears rolled down his bruised face.

" Three..." he said in a small, weak voice. He then clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. His eyes roved around, looking inwardly, as his jaw trembled.

" I..." he began uncertainly. " I'm – I'm tired. I'm tired Don. I really need to sleep. I want to sleep."

" Maybe we should get you to a doctor," Don said, fear swelling in his chest, threatening to choke him.

Charlie shook his head fiercely, teetering on the edge of sobbing. " I'm going to bed now. I'm sorry."

He moved passed Don, keeping space between them. Don stepped out of Charlie's way as his brain worked to say something, anything, that would stop Charlie and snap him out of this...

Out of what?

Charlie cringed slightly as he passed Don, and it made Don's heart break to see it. It was as though Charlie were actually afraid Don might hurt him; as though he didn't trust Don. Don swallowed back the tightness constricting his throat, but it would not stop hurting.

" Charlie?" Don said, but could only watch as Charlie made his slow, teetering way up the stairs to his room. Don waited until he heard the creak and click of a door being shut. Don then waited a little longer, minutes feeling like hours. All the obvious questions kept buzzing in his head: What was wrong? Why was Charlie acting like this? Was that blood on his shirt? Why was his face bruised?

Why won't he let me touch him? It was too strange to comprehend. Yes, Charlie was not big on physical contact, especially rib crushing hugs, but did not mind a clasp on the shoulder or an arm around the neck, especially from Don. It was as though a part of Charlie was still missing. His body had returned, but not his mind - not all of it.

Don finally headed up the stairs, treading softly. In all truth he knew he needed to convince Charlie to see a doctor, but he couldn't. It felt wrong considering Charlie's present state. Don did not have to be a psychologist to know that Charlie was unstable, and the last thing Don wanted to do was send his brother over an edge he might never return from. Still, it did not mean Don couldn't try to do _something_.

When Don reached Charlie's room he grabbed the knob and slowly turned it. He then pushed the door open even more slowly to stifle the creak. Inside it was dark, and rather than risking turning on the light, Don pulled out the mini-Mag lite he kept in his side pocket. He walked carefully around Charlie's bed. Don passed his light over Charlie's form, curled into a tight ball but still as a corpse, which made Don uneasy. He was at Charlie's back, so could not see his face and whatever expression he wore. Don knelt by the bedside and slowly moved the covers away from Charlie's back. Even more slowly he lifted Charlie's shirt, and jerked his head back in alarm.

The top part of his back, just below the neck where the backbone curved to be slightly visible, was all scratched up with deep cuts, some of which were oozing slightly. Sickened and shocked, Don stood and headed into the bathroom where he grabbed the first aid kit hidden under the sink and then a wash cloth. He headed back, but stopped just outside Charlie's door in realization. If he tried to treat Charlie's cuts, and Charlie woke up, he would freak. Charlie had nearly flipped out when Don touched his shoulder. He didn't want to see what would happen when he discovered Don messing with the wounds on his back.

Don leaned against the frame of the door with the kit in one hand and the flashlight and cloth in the other. From downstairs came the rattle of the knob and the whine of another door being opened.

" Don?"

Don glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Charlie, sighing in defeat. He quietly entered the room to set the kit and cloth on Charlie's desk next to his bed. He then pulled the shirt back down and covered Charlie back up, careful not to touch him.

" You're all right, buddy," Don whispered as he did this. " You'll be all right."

Charlie didn't even move, and Don leaned in close until he could hear Charlie's soft breathing.

" Don!"

Don finally pulled himself away from his brother and headed downstairs. He found his father trying to hang up his own jacket, only to drop it several times.

" Don, I'm telling you, I can't take this anymore. I mean I must have searched every place Charlie could have gone fifteen times." Alan finally managed to get his coat hooked on the stand, but still clung to it as though holding on for support. He dropped his head, like a man in defeat, and sighed. " I don't know how you expect me to get any rest. If I haven't the past few days, I sure as hell am not going to tonight."

Don stood quietly on the bottom step. " Dad?"

" How could this happen? I know Charlie can be a little absent minded, but get himself lost..."

" Dad."

" I can't stop thinking what might have happened to him. What _could_ be happening to him..."

" Dad!"

Alan finally turned to look at his eldest son. Don saw moisture in his father's eyes, and on his father's face, and for a moment Don was taken back. It was only when their mother had died that he had seen his father cry, and the relief Don felt about giving Alan the news almost brought him to his own tears.

" Charlie's home."

Alan's hands slowly fell away from his jacket. " What?"

" Charlie's back home. I came in the house and found him at the dining room table. He's upstairs asleep."

The moisture that had hovered on the edge of Alan's eyes filled and spilled over. He put both hands to his mouth, then dropped them.

" He's – he's back?" he barely breathed.

Don turned his mouth up in a brief smile. " Yeah." Now came the hard part, and Don dropped the smile. " But... Something's wrong."

Alan visibly paled. " Wrong? What do you mean wrong? What's wrong? I want to see him."

He moved to the stairs, only to have Don block him. " Dad, hold on, just wait. We need to talk. Charlie was acting strange, I don't know how to explain it. He was acting... I don't know – confused, scared, a whole lotta things. He," Don took a breath and swallowed. His dad wasn't going to like this next part, but it had to be said. " He's hurt. He wouldn't let me touch him. He refused to go to a doctor."

Alan's mouth fell open, and he covered it with both hands. " Donnie, you didn't make him go?"

Don looked to the floor to avert his father's gaze as he tried to put his emotions on a leash. " I couldn't. I... I can't really explain it. It's something you had to see for yourself. I just – I couldn't do that to him. Maybe tomorrow we could try and convince him. Maybe he'll be a little clearer, I don't know. I think he just needs a little bit of time, that's all. I felt I needed to give him that. He can't be too injured, he didn't seem like he was. But I'll stay overnight, just in case you need my help. The thing is dad - when you see him - don't touch him."

Don could see in his dad's eyes the torment of having to rein in all questions, but he finally consented with a single nod. Don then led Alan up the stairs to Charlie's room and clicked on the flashlight.

" Didn't want to wake him," Don whispered. Alan stepped around Don to kneel at the bed, facing Charlie. He was like that for the longest time, unreadable in the dark, but Don did not have to see his father's face to see the struggle of wanting to place his hand on his youngest son's arm, neck, or head – to feel him and know this was not some dream or a figment of weariness - but fighting the urge. Finally, Alan settled for adjusting Charlie's covers. He then pushed himself to his feet, so slowly and stiffly that for a moment Don thought he was in pain. The two headed from the room, shutting Charlie's door softly behind them.

Alan leaned his back against the door, rubbing his face with both hands. He then threw his hands up in a questioning shrug.

" What happened, Donnie?" He cleared his throat, and Don could see that he was trying not to cry. When he next spoke, his voice cracked. " What happened to him?"

Don looked back down the stairs where he could see the light from the dining room spill like liquid amber across the floor. No matter the fact that Charlie was safe at home and in his bed, Don could not help feeling that he was still not found. And for some reason, Don felt even more helpless now than when Charlie was actually missing.

" I don't know."

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A/N: I would like to thank people for helping me correct Laymans term (bet I still don't have it right.) But please, no more pointing it out, I get it. I'll correct it one of these days. Even English majors aren't always perfect spellers.

Alice I - You're right about Charlie's character, but I find him a bit tricky to work with. Yes, he is very spirited, yet also easily disturbed from what I gather. So, with being both hurt and tormented by a wacko, I imagined he would be very out of character. The truth is, until we see something bad happen to Charlie on the show, there's no true way of telling how he would react.


	5. Reasoning

A/N: I would like to thank everyone for their comments. A very motivating thing, comments. However, though I would like to be quick about dishing out the chapters, this story is rather tricky to write. Lots and lots of emotional turmoil ahead, not just for Charlie but for Don as well, and I want to get it right. Not skimp on anything that could be very interesting.

Alice I – I didn't take offense to your comment. If anything, I agreed with it. The funny thing is, the reason I like Charlie's character so much is that I can kind of relate to it on certain aspects. And yet I find him a difficult character to write about. Emotionally he can go in all kinds of directions. But then again that is what's making this story so fun, and his character fun to work with. I find him at his most interesting when he's emotional and unable to cope. As for a beta, I probably should get one, but I'm too lazy.

Ch. 5

_Reasoning_

A harsh, pulsating beep assaulted Charlie's ears to stab into his brain. He winced, and habitually reached out to slap the alarm clock that insisted on screeching at him. When the sound finally died, Charlie brought his hand to his face and rubbed. He winced again when he dug the heel of his hand into his eyes and pain ruptured throughout his eye-socket. He sucked in a sharp breath, causing a throbbing pain to his side. Charlie bolted upright in his bed and arched his back from even more pain stinging his flesh and making his muscles feel as though they were being ripped. He held the sheets of his bed in a death grip until the pain slowly ebbed away enough for him to function on a mental stand point. He then gradually melted into a slump, shivering and glancing around in absolute confusion.

Sunlight spilled through the gap in his curtains in three narrow shafts that fell on the edge of his bed, a discarded shoe, and bare floor. Charlie stared at the light, then glanced around again in uncertainty. He began remembering things that made his stomach clench and his heart pound mercilessly. He remembered waking up, walking home, Don, Don saying something. What he did not remember was going to bed. It was strange how fragmented his thoughts were being. The things he tried to remember, or remember clearly, he could not. The things he wanted to forget he remembered all too clearly.

Charlie put his hand to his throbbing side, only to snatch it away with a grimace. The area was tender, yet so far it only hindered his breathing if he breathed too deep.

Leon kicked me there, Charlie thought, and he cringed. No, the fall did that. It was the fall. Leon was only a dream.

_Three days_.

Don had said something about Charlie being gone for three days.

So why am I still alive? Leon?

No, it was the fall. I was unconscious. That is the only logical explanation, the only possible conclusion. Leon had needed me, so why get rid of me? I was unconscious for three days, in an unknown place that is hard to find, so couldn't be found. Leon was a dream, just a dream...

Charlie pulled back the covers and forced his stiff and aching body from the warm safety of the bed. He stood tentatively on legs that at first did not want to cooperate. He wavered when his head spun and his legs quaked. He shook his head clear, then forced his legs to move and take him to the door. Once the blood started flowing to his rigid limbs, his head quickly cleared.

Charlie shuffled to the door, opening it a crack and peering out into an empty hall thick with silence. Charlie did not know why, but he felt relieved for the emptiness. He did not want to encounter anyone. At least... not yet. Not quite yet. He stepped out of his room and made his way to the bathroom. He flipped on the light and walked up to the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. The bruise on his eye was a massively dark stain crawling up to become one with the even darker bruise on his forehead.

Maybe I should see a doctor. But the thought made Charlie ill, though he was not sure why.

Three days. That was how long Charlie had been exposed to the elements. Statistically, he should be dead. A corpse for the wild animals to pick at, rotting like discarded food in the heat of the sun.

Unless Leon...

No, that had been a dream. a dream, a dream... a dream a dream a dream...

Charlie lifted his hand to his ribs. Bile shot burning into his throat. He whirled to the side, dropping to his knees and opening the toilet lid just in time, heaving with all he had despite the agony it caused.

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Don's eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. Since waking, they had yet to turn elsewhere other than the stairs. His mind was being just as rebellious. He had slept in his clothes, and needed to shower and change before going to work. He had his bag with his extra clothes next to him by the recliner, but that was as far as he had gotten in terms of getting ready. He found he couldn't even move, not yet, not until he saw Charlie head down the stairs.

He could hear his father in the kitchen, banging pots and tapping cooking utensils as he prepared breakfast. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and fruit from what Don could smell once he was able to sort the smells. According to Charlie, their dad hardly cooked big breakfasts anymore since Charlie was always having to rush somewhere so having to settle on cereal. So there was no way to look at his father's recent bout of heavy cooking other than as preparation for a celebratory meal at the return of his youngest son.

Despite the mind-numbing relief Don felt at having his brother back, it was still not enough for want of a celebration, at least not in his mind. It still did not feel like Charlie was back, which was why his mind would not cooperate, not until he saw Charlie in the flesh this morning.

Even with all the clattering in the kitchen, Don thought he caught the distinct rush of water that could only come from a shower. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the sound but stayed reserved on whether to see this as normal Charlie behavior. It stopped twenty minutes later. Don sat up, staring intently at the top of the stairs. He heard the creak of the floor-boards, the lower pitched whine of the door, and five minutes later saw Charlie's slender form emerging from the darkness of the hallway as he descended.

Don stiffened in surprise. Charlie was fully dressed in a dark-green T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and the jacket he normally wore to classes. All that was missing was his back-pack, which was still lying by the garage door, stained and muddy.

No, something else was missing. It was something that could not be seen unless looked for, but for Don it stood out like the bruises on Charlie's face.

Charlie's normal descent down any flight of stairs was always a visual testament to the energy abounding in the younger man. Even when not bursting with excitement or anticipation, he was always down the stairs within seconds. It had always amazed Don how Charlie could take stairs without tripping and breaking his neck.

Today, Charlie moved slowly, even cautiously it seemed, as though he did not trust each step. His eyes, thankfully, had lost the blankness of yesterday. Not, however, the uneasiness. Don could see it, because it was marring the usual bright countenance of his brother's face. Charlie was feigning, but he never had been good at keeping secrets, let alone lying.

Don rose from the chair, clearing his throat loudly to alert Charlie without startling him. " Hey Charlie."

Charlie's head snapped around, and he looked at Don in brief uncertainty before averting his gaze to the kitchen. " Hey Don. What's dad making? smells great. Have you seen my back pack?"

" Yeah, by the garage. Hey, you feeling okay today?"

Charlie grabbed the strap of his bag and dragged it over to the front door. He then knelt and began rummaging through it. " Yeah, great, why?"

Don's eyes widened. Why? For one minuscule moment, Don actually thought that Charlie was messing with him.

" Why? Charlie, you were missing for three days."

Charlie paused, then looked over his shoulders and up at Don. A flicker of fear passed like lightning in Charlie's gaze, only to be quickly smothered by his mask of normalcy. " I know." He then looked back at his bag, stood, and wiped his hands off on his thighs.

" You know?" Don said, feeling as though he had been slapped. " Funny, Charlie, because you sure as hell don't act like you know. You should be in a hospital, getting checked for broken bones and cuts. Speaking of which, you do anything about those cuts on your back?"

The sounds in the kitchen stopped abruptly, and Don knew that their dad had heard and was listening in, but Don didn't care. Charlie turned, paling and giving Don a momentary look of alarm before averting his gaze beyond him. Don nodded sharply.

" Yeah, I saw the cuts on your back, Charlie. Did you get them cleaned? Because they were looking pretty nasty."

Charlie kept wiping one hand along his hip, and his eyes took on that distant, unfocused gaze he always wore when in the throes of equation cracking or when troubled. " You, um... How did you...?"

Don did not answer right away as he studied his brother. The fear was back, and refused to fade away so easily again. But Charlie was obviously trying to fight it, his throat moving in a tight swallow and the muscles of his jaw twitching.

" I didn't touch you, if that's what you're asking," Don assured, irritation betraying itself in his biting tone, which made Don want to kick himself. Charlie looked so much like a little kid at that moment, a kid that someone had smacked without provocation. A kid who had been hurt for no reason, and no amount of apologies could mend it. Don remembered as a kid the times he would get so mad at Charlie for some mundane little annoyance, and the remorse Charlie would so sincerely express. It had always brought about such terrible feelings of guilt in Don, which in turn would infuriate him and make him even madder at Charlie. Charlie had the bad habit of laying all responsibility - responsibility that was not even his to begin with - on his own shoulders. Charlie really could do no wrong, despite his annoying attributes, but had yet to ever realize this for himself.

Whatever had happened to Charlie, Charlie was probably blaming himself for it right now.

The thought stifled Don's rising frustration, as did recalling the image of Charlie cringing away from him like a kicked dog.

Don let out a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from clasping Charlie on the shoulder. " What happened, buddy. Do you remember?"

Don poured all the kindness he could, and worry he felt, into his words, and it seemed to work. Charlie blinked, then squinted thoughtfully.

" I um... It was raining, hard. I was trying to get home before it hit but I didn't. I couldn't see, so I got lost. I lost control of the bike and," he shrugged, almost indifferently, " I fell. I went rolling down this really steep hill, hit my head, and was out. I had some weird dreams. I guess I thought they were real but..." a strange, almost wistful smile spread on Charlie's face. " They were just dreams." Moisture shimmered in Charlie's eyes. " That's all." He then looked at Don, still smiling. " You know how real dreams can be."

Don's eyes roved over his brother's face, stopping on the darkest bruise on his forehead. " Maybe we should get that checked..."

Don raised a hand to point at the bruise, and Charlie jerked back, his smile vanishing into what Don could have sworn was panic. " No! No, I don't need it checked. I'm fine, Don, really." Charlie's voice became more steady, more assured, and the smile returned forced and hesitant. " It's just a bump. I'm fine, I don't need a doctor. What I _do_ need is a ride to school."

He moved past Don, walking in his usual, enthusiastic way. Don turned and watched him incredulously as he headed for the dining room. It was a weird scene, Charlie outwardly acting the way he always did, though his face was marred by discoloration. During Charlie's darker days in high school, when he was the target for every bully and jealous hot-head because of his age, size, and brains, a shiner usually had him jumpy and uncomfortable for weeks.

The fact that Charlie was smiling made the present situation even more surreal. Don's thoughts went to Megan Reeves, and what she might have to say about all this if she saw it. It was a tempting thought, bringing her over to observe Charlie. Don had a hard enough time understanding his brother's ways on a normal day.

Don brought his hands out of his pockets to plant on his hips. He could hear Charlie talking to their dad in the kitchen, asking him for a ride to school.

" Your bike busted up, Charlie?" Alan asked. " I could take a look at it."

" I'll look at it when I get home. I just need a ride."

Don moved closer to the kitchen, standing outside the entry and out of sight. Their father had resumed cooking, but with a lot less noise involved.

" Oh, come on Charlie, your bike can't be that bad off. You love riding to school..."

Don, at first, was taken back that their dad hadn't agreed to take Charlie right off, or suggest it to begin with, or even flat out deny it and force Charlie to stay home. But Don was quick to catch the cautious undertone as his father spoke; something Charlie would not notice since it wasn't meant to be obvious. Alan was slick that way, badgering truths out of his sons without an actual direct confrontation. Don had eventually caught on to it, but Charlie – whose mind was forever in all directions but the here and now – had yet to realize their father's subtlety. Normally, Alan did not resort to such tactics - unless it was absolutely necessary such as now - since it wasn't fair to Charlie.

" I know, I just... Please dad?"

Don heard his father sigh heavily. " Charlie, I don't think it's a good idea for you to go back to work this soon. You were in an accident, out cold for days. You won't even go see a doctor. But you'll go to work? What's going on with you?"

The wheedling was over. Now it was serious.

" Dad..." Charlie's voice wavered, and it shocked and disturbed Don the amount of desperation he heard backing that single word.

" Please."

" Why, Charlie? Why is it so important you go back to work now...?"

Don couldn't take it anymore. He stepped around into view, leaning his shoulder against the entry way frame. " I'll take you Charlie."

Charlie looked at Don, and Don saw, yet again, a flicker of fear. " What? You will? A-are you sure. I-I mean you have to go to work..."

Don raised both his hands in a placating way. " Charlie, relax, it's okay. It's no big deal. I'm just going in to finish paperwork. I'll take you and pick you up, no problem."

Charlie seemed to melt with relief so great Don thought he could feel it pushing the tension away. And in Charlie's eyes was the most heart-felt thank you that no words could ever express. But he said them all the same, and with a small smile.

" Th-thanks... Don."

Don nodded, then looked beyond Charlie's shoulder at his father's withering and questioning look at being undermined. Smoke began coiling from the pan where bacon sizzled. Don gestured toward it, which caused Charlie to flinch.

" Dad, the pan..."

Alan looked at the now smoking bacon. " Oh!" He lifted the pan from the stove, and Charlie quickly moved out of the way, heading to the dining room, ducking past Don though Don stepped out of his way.

Don turned his head enough to see Charlie out of the corner of his eye. His little brother was moving back into the living room, probably making for his bag.

" Don, _Don_," he heard his father hiss, and turned back. Alan was still at the stove, keeping the pan off the burner. " What...?" He began irritably.

" If he wants to go that badly, just let him. It can't hurt. Amita and Larry will be there. Besides, maybe they can talk a little sense into him."

Alan sagged in apparent defeat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He suddenly seemed so weary to Don that Don wondered if he had gotten any sleep last night, or had kept checking on Charlie just to make sure he was still there.

" Did _you_ talk to him?" Alan asked.

Don raised his eyebrows and let out a slow breath. " Yeah."

" And?"

Don looked to the floor. " He seems... really set against going to see a doctor." Then he shrugged. " I don't get it."

" Donnie, there's nothing to get, not yet. First thing's first, and that first thing is us getting him checked up. Since you're driving him to work, maybe you should take a little detour. Drive him to the emergency room." Alan began shoveling the burnt bacon from the pan with a plastic spatula and setting it on a plate by the stove. " Of course why you haven't been able to _talk _him into going... I mean if you asked him to jump off a bridge he'd probably do it. Why not something simple like going to a doctor?"

Don shifted slightly in discomfort. It was the same question he was asking himself, even now. Yes he could try and force Charlie to go. He could yell at him, intimidate him, beg him, drive guilt so deep that Don _could_ actually tell him to jump off a bridge and he would do it without question. Don knew he had a certain amount of influence over his brother. He also knew he took advantage of it, even if he was not conscious about doing it. But now, when that influence would probably matter the most, Don found the prospect almost sickening. The mere suggestion of going to the doctor had brought such terror to Charlie... and Don still had the image of him cowering just because Don had tried to touch him burned into his brain.

How would he react to doctors checking him over?

There _was_ something wrong, probably in Charlie's body, but definitely in his mind. It amazed Don that he was able to suppress the urge to force Charlie to tell him what was really going on, what really happened. No fall, no matter how bad, would cause this kind of odd agitation. Grilling someone for info had become an instinctual reaction in Don from years of trying to force others into telling truths, plots, and motives. But Charlie wasn't a suspect. Charlie was his brother; his hurt, scared, confused little brother, and Don did not want to be the one who caused him even more pain and fear. He wanted to be the one to take it away.

Alan looked at his oldest son, and Don could see the same desire gnawing at his father, weighing him down. They were both on the same page, both seeing beyond Charlie's crumbling mask of normality but unable to know what it was they saw.

" Something's wrong, Donnie. And I won't deny that it's scaring the hell out of me."

Don looked at the floor. " Yeah... Me too."

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A/N: I hope this new rendition of ch.5 is more how it should be, and apologize for Alan's shoddy portrayal. I did kind of neglect Alan's character, mostly because I was focusing on Don and Charlie. Hopefully it's now more tidied up and makes better sense. There will be more Alan in later chapters, and more emotion on his part as well. Thanks to everyone who pointed it out and I hope this new chapter works out better. The next chapter will be coming out soon.


	6. Just Talk

A/N: Go see Serenity! What does that movie and Numbers have in common? See and find out. Also, please refrain from mentioning spelling mistakes. I am aware some words may be misspelled. I am an impatient person and like to get the chapters out as soon as I can, so tend to miss words here and there. If there are a glaring number of misspelled words, okay. If it's only one, two or three, I don't care. They'll be fixed in due time. Also, some words, for some dumb reason, are neither in the spell check or dictionary. I'm still trying to locate _Doppelganger_.

Ch. 6

Just Talk

He didn't have to stay. Three exhausting nights spent searching, and the return of his brother, had been reason enough for Don's superiors to grant him two-days leave for R and R. He did not even have to come in to begin with. A single call to the bureau alerting them to Charlie's return was all Don had needed to do.

Don, however, hated paper work, and and getting it out of the way would get it off his mind. Besides, it was an excuse to come in. Not like he needed an excuse, but for some reason felt that he did. He did not want to sit around at home, watching the clock tick mindlessly away until it came to when he needed to pick up Charlie. Plus, Don wanted to talk to Megan before he saw Charlie again. He almost laughed out loud over needing help in talking to his own brother. But Megan was a profiler, and it was very probable that she now knew more about Charlie than Don did.

" Glad to hear Charlie's back."

Don looked up at the smiling countenance of Megan. She had her arms folded, and was tapping a pen against her elbow. Her eyes flicked from Don's face to the papers stacked neatly on two sides of the manila folder. She uncrossed her arms and tapped the papers with the pen.

" That anxious to see this over, huh?"

Don shoved the folder away from him and leaned back in his chair that groaned as though in protest. " I hate this part."

" Doesn't everyone?" Megan then pulled up the nearest chair to sit adjacent of Don. " But it's not like it has to be done in a day. You're not repressing something, are you?"

Don looked at her in alarm. Megan just grinned, then lightly slapped his arm. " I'm kidding. Still, you probably shouldn't stay here much longer or people will begin to think you're a workaholic."

" They don't already?"

Megan shrugged. Don envied the way she always appeared so relaxed, as though sleepless nights and constant worry weren't even in her vocabulary. " Probably too afraid to say it to your face. But they may start whispering about it. Then again, who cares what people think. David said you needed to talk to me about something?"

Don shifted uncomfortably, looking at the file without actually seeing it. " Um, yeah. It's about Charlie."

Megan's smile faded. " Is he all right?"

The question made Don furrow his brow in both thought and consternation. " I don't know." He looked up at Megan, knowing the worry to be plain on his face, something he was normally adept at hiding. " He won't go to a doctor."

At this, Megan slowly straightened. " Is he hurt?"

" Looks it to me. His face is bruised, he has these cuts on his back, and who knows what else." Don then leaned in toward Megan with his arms on his desk, lowering his voice. He did not want anyone else to hear what he had to say next. In all truth, it was no one else's business say for his and Megan's. " But that's only half of it. He won't let me or dad touch him."

Megan's own brow wrinkled at this. " You mean as in hug him? Huh. I kind of took Charlie for always being the anti touchy-feely type."

Don shook his head. " No, this is different. I'm talking about not even letting us put a hand on his shoulder or brush past him. I -" Don took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then ran his hand through his hair. " Crap, Megan, you should have seen it. You needed to see it. I know it probably isn't saying much but... I don't know. He acted scared. The night he came back home, he actually _begged_ me not to touch him, then acted like I was going to hurt him. How the hell does a bike accident do that!" Don straightened. " He was afraid of _me_ Megan. Of _me_. It was like he knew me but didn't know me, like he was only half there. I mean, I know I can make him a little nervous sometimes, but even he knows I would never hurt him. I've _never_ hurt him. At least... not physically. I mean I know I've struck a few nerves at times..."

Megan held up both her hands, stopping Don before he entered into a tirade. " Wait, wait, wait... Okay, tell me _exactly_ how Charlie was acting when he came back. Tell me everything, even what he said."

Don recounted that night to Megan, seeing it clearly as though it had just happened within the hour. It was a hard thing to look back on, seeing Charlie half in and half out of reality, pushing for normalcy and losing bitterly. He had looked so helpless and lost that talking about it made Don's throat tighten, altering his voice so that it cracked.

" It was too weird," He finished. " It still is."

When he looked up at Megan, he saw her to be wide-eyed but already processing everything Don had told her.

" And all he told you was that he fell off his bike and was unconscious for three days until he finally woke up?"

Don nodded. Megan leaned back in her own chair.

" Well, I can tell you this much, it's not unheard of. Lots of people have stayed missing for days because they were unconscious or too out of it to find their way back. But you're right, that can't be all there is to it. You said he was trying to act normal?"

" Trying and failing, yeah," Don replied. " This morning."

" Sounds like repression. Maybe something did happen, but he doesn't remember it, or remember it clearly. Maybe while he was out, someone came and tried to take his wallet. Charlie felt it, couldn't do anything, panicked, and now can't stand to be touched."

Don rubbed his face with both hands, then paused, slowly lowering them to the desk. He really needed a nap. " He did mention something about a dream."

Megan smiled, tossing her hand up then dropping it back on her lap. " There you go. Perhaps he did dream, and the dream mingled with reality. Dreams can seem very real, no matter how exaggerated they are. And with Charlie being out of it he probably couldn't tell the dream from what was really going on. A dog licking his face could have seemed like a person doing... who knows what! Same with someone trying to steal his wallet, or even someone trying to help him. and – no offense to your brother or anything – but he's a little emotionally sensitive."

Don snorted derisively. " A little?"

" Yes, but, he tends to hold it in. Simply being unconscious for three days alone might be something he's having difficulty dealing with. Knowing him, he probably calculated that he should be dead, and doesn't get why he's not. Coupled with vivid dreams that were probably nightmares..." Megan shook her head, pursing her lips. " He can't cope with it."

Don looked at Megan imploringly. " So what can we do?"

Megan sighed. " Well, try to get him to talk. You need to find out what happened, what he's holding back, even if it was just a dream. He needs to face it. But... knowing Charlie... you shouldn't force the issue. Let it come on its own, or he'll just keep pushing it back deeper and deeper."

Don sat back in his chair with his elbow on the padded arm" So... just talk to him?"

Megan smiled. " Yeah. Just talk. Let him know he can come to you, that you'll listen. Don't prod him, don't be skeptical. See if you can't get him to open up about this dream. just remember it might take a while."

Don shifted uncomfortably once again. " Can't you talk to him? I mean, you are better at this kind of stuff."

Megan narrowed her eyes. " Don, I'm a profiler, not a psychiatrist. Besides, your the one he should open up to, you and your dad. You're the ones that need to help him feel safe. And in doing that he should start to feel comfortable enough to give you bits and pieces of the whole story. The important thing is to give him time, and to watch him. I mean for all we know, something _might_ have happened – not a dream or a hallucination – that his mind is purposefully shutting away but unsuccessfully. He might actually not remember what occurred, but knows that something has. If that's the case, then I'm sorry to say that things will only get worse. He might fall into depression, stop going to work, sleeping, eating. You need to watch for changes Don. You need to watch Charlie close."

Don's heart felt as though it had just nose-dived into the pit of his stomach.

I can't handle this, was his first thought. But like I have a choice.

It frightened Don, the thought of watching his brother deteriorate while he suppressed some memory that refused to show itself. It made him sick to think that something so terrible had happened that it would cause his brother to mentally shut down.

But what frightened him even more was having to be the one to pull him through it, save him before he fell even deeper. Don was not good with emotions. He tended to upset Charlie more often than help him feel better. Alan would be better at it, but like Megan said, Charlie needed both of them.

Don tilted his head back and let out a frustrated breath, passing his hands over his face. " Oh, this is gonna be fun."

" Just start by trying to get him to see a doctor. But like I said, don't push him or force him. And whatever you do, _do not_ get frustrated with him."

Don kept his head tilted back. " Haven't yet."

" Really?" He could hear the surprise in Megan's voice, and he almost laughed out loud.

" Yeah. Shocked?"

" A little. But you're his brother, you're worried about him... it's only natural to give into that concern, even for you."

" Just talk to him?"

" Yep, simple as that."

Don lifted his head to look at Megan doubtfully. " Since when has talking to Charlie ever been simple?"

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A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. But interesting things are about to occur, and I want to save it for the next chapter. And if there is some dissatisfaction with Megan's character, I apologize. She's new, so not much to know about her personality-wise as of yet.


	7. Body and Mind

Ch. 7

Body and Mind

" You know, the human body is a very fascinating conundrum. On the one hand, there have been those who have suffered atrocious injuries and come out – not only alive – but eventually fully healed. On the other hand, there have been those who received nothing more than a minor blow to the back and days later will either die from it or end up paralyzed, all because they twisted the wrong way or tried to bend to pick up a piece of paper."

Charlie shuddered, nearly dropping his chalk. Larry's words, at least a part of them, sounded strangely familiar. Charlie vaguely recalled thinking along the same lines concerning his own spine, which had yet to finish him off in any way. Still, Charlie did not like thinking on it, and especially did not like being reminded about it.

" It really is amazing how both fragile and strong the body can be. I once heard this story about a man, a construction worker, who fell on some sort of pipe or pole. Pierced him straight through the chest. Yet, miraculously, he got up and even took himself to the hospital. Apparently, it had missed all the major organs..."

Charlie paused in his writing, leaving the pi sign half finished. His side was throbbing uncomfortably, which meant that the Tylenol was wearing off.

Why did I come in today? Charlie thought. If there had been a reason, he had totally forgotten it. All he did remember was his overwhelming desire to come to school, pick up where he left off, and immerse himself in work. It probably had more to do with not wanting to stay home and listen to his dad try to nag him into going to see a doctor. Charlie hadn't counted Larry, with his cryptic innuendos that always started off sounding like inane rambling. Larry was clever about making points, always able to tie in present and real life situations with something either quantum, mathematic, or just plain scientific.

Today, however, his subtlety was a little less up to his standards. Charlie knew what he was getting at, but did not hold it against him. Larry was just worried, and expressing that worry the only way he knew how; deep-minded discussion.

But Charlie was finding it distracting. Since Charlie was behind on the lessons, he had let Amita take today's classes until he could catch up. On top of that, there was his part in a project that needed completion. Not his project, but a combined endeavor begun by the professors in Larry's department. Charlie's only part in it, as a favor though they said he would be credited for it, was to check the math and make sure everything fit. Larry was one of those on the team, but refused to discuss its progress, it seemed, until he had driven home his point.

It had never bothered Charlie before - working formulas while Larry talked. It bothered him now, like two opposing forces pulling at him, tearing him two ways. He wanted to lose himself in the problem, think only of the numbers. He wanted silence and solitude, but not at the expense of being rude to his friend. Irritation kept trying to rise like a geyser, but Charlie kept shoving it back down.

" Larry," Charlie began, glad to hear his voice to be free of any annoyance. Charlie crouched, erasing a prime number to replace it with a lesser prime number. " If this conversation is headed to where I'm fairly certain I know it's heading, let me save you the effort by reminding you that I'm fine."

Charlie could feel Larry staring at him in that analytical, yet troubled, way of his as though studying an usual specimen trapped in a jar. Charlie faltered, nearly dropping his chalk again, as his mind focused on that feeling. It was not simply the feeling of being watched, but that Larry's gaze was actually boring holes into Charlie's head, seeing in and beyond him; all the way to the dream.

_Just a dream. Just a dream._

Charlie, hand poised at the board with the chalk an inch from the surface, swallowed nervously, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

_You are a coward, kid._

" Charles..."

Charlie jumped slightly, feeling as though he had just snapped out of a nap. He continued writing.

" The human body may be a fascinating combination of mechanics and biology," Larry went on, " and it may be able to withstand quite a bit, but it has a limit you know. Now, I don't want to be the one to dredge up anything unpleasant, but being out in the elements for three days would have taken quite a toll, don't you think?" Larry always had a cautious way of proceeding once he came to his point, as though the blatant truth was volatile while metaphors were safer. " Dehydration, malnutrition, hypothermia, insects, animals..." Charlie did not have to see to know Larry was ticking off each word with his fingers. " Not to mention damage sustained in the fall."

Charlie began writing faster, chalk tapping loudly and dust streaming down the board. " Larry, I know you're concerned, and I appreciate it. But really, I'm fine."

" I'm just saying, what's wrong with a small checkup? It can't hurt."

Charlie paused again. To Larry, it would only seem as though Charlie were contemplating something concerning the equation. Had he known what Charlie was really thinking, he would have kept hammering in his point.

Why not? Just a checkup. My side does kind of hurt.

The more Charlie thought on it, the more it made him ill. There would be hands on him. He didn't want to feel that. It would linger, everything he was feeling was lingering. The dream, he still felt things from the dream, and was tempted to rub them away; on his arm, his head, his side, and especially his back. The sensation of something on his skin, too small to see but big enough to feel crawling and moving about, would not go away. He wanted to scrub his skin clean of it, but most of all did not want to feel it. He did not want to feel anything outside himself.

Then there would be those doctors that would tell him; these bruises, cracks, cuts (whatever) could not have been made by a fall. Above not wanting to feel, Charlie did not want to hear those words. He knew they wouldn't be said, but he did not want to risk hearing them all the same.

" I don't see the need," Charlie blurted. " I managed to walk home, got something to eat, got something to drink, so I couldn't have been that bad off. I feel fine now..."

Charlie unwittingly reached up, stretching to start writing at the top of the board, only to snatch his arm back down and curl into himself with a grimace when the throb in his side flared into all out pain. Charlie clamped his mouth shut to keep from crying out, and did not move until the pain ebbed back into a throb.

" Charles?" Larry asked, and Charlie could hear him shift as he stood.

Charlie let out the breath he did not realize he had been holding, then carefully inhaled as deep as he could, spreading his ribs to test their new limit. His breath caught at another quick stab of pain, so he released the air slowly. Okay, so he couldn't breathe too deep. Pulled muscles tended to do that, not necessarily broken bones.

" Charles?" Larry asked again, and Charlie heard him coming closer. He stiffened, and moved quickly to the other end of the board.

" It's okay, Larry. I just pulled a muscle, that's all. I'm fine." Charlie plastered on a smile and looked at Larry, who was standing with a perplexed expression and his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants.

" Really," Charlie persisted when Larry took another step. Charlie returned to his work, but felt tense enough to snap. Half his mind was on the problem, since it was practically natural for a part of his thoughts to dwell on math. The other half was staying permanently aware of Larry, and listening for footfalls.

Instead, he heard only silence, and felt Larry's stare. Then Larry sighed. " Charles, I know I shouldn't push the matter but..."

Charlie bristled. He did not want to hear it any more. He did not want to do what he did not need to do – did not _want_ to do.

" Then don't!" he snapped, and cringed with a sudden onrush of guilt. Slowly, Charlie turned to look at a now bewildered Larry.

" I-I mean... I'm fine, Larry. Please. I'm fine. I don't need to see a doctor. I just – I'm really tired of people trying to get me to. I just want to forget the whole falling thing ever happened. I tumbled down a hill, okay, big deal. I'm alive, I survived it... Time to move on."

Charlie thought Larry's face could not express even more astonishment, but he was obviously wrong.

" A-Alright, Charles. I'm sorry."

Charlie began twisting the chalk in his suddenly shaking fingers, and momentarily lowered his eyes as he normally did when abashed.

" I'm sorry too, Larry. I didn't mean..." he turned back to the board, " to snap like that. It's just that I'm still, you know, a little disoriented. It was weird, the whole thing was weird, and I would rather just forget it ever happened."

" I understand," Larry replied kindly.

There came a knock to the door, a door Charlie had left open. Charlie snapped his head around to see Don standing halfway inside, appearing more like a lost stranger than his brother who knew his way around.

" Oh hello Don," Larry said.

Don jerked his head in a greeting nod. " Hey Larry. Charlie, you ready?"

Charlie blinked at Don in confusion. " It's time to go?" He looked at his watch, and his heart skipped a beat. It really was time to go. Yet Charlie felt as though he had been at school for only fifteen minutes – at most. Contrary to everything Larry had to say on time and everyone having the same amount of minutes, it certainly did not feel that way.

Charlie set down the chalk. " Yeah, just give me a sec." He wiped his chalk-dusty hands off on his chest, then gathered his books, papers, folders, and laptop into his bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder on the side that did not hurt, yet all the same the movement caused his side to throb a little more viciously.

After shutting off lights, he, Don, and Larry headed out of the room. Charlie locked the door behind him, but paused when he looked into the small window at the empty darkness. For the first time in his life, Charlie found his office, his practical sanctuary, somewhat foreboding in its sea of shadows. He shuddered and turned away. He was weary of dark, cold places.

Charlie said good-bye to Larry and followed Don through the halls. Charlie made a mental note to call Amita and tell her that he would be resuming teaching tomorrow. He would have sought her out since she would most likely be in the classroom or the library, but did not want to keep Don any longer. It was bad enough he had begged for a ride to school like a whiny child, and Don had volunteered.

Why had I done that? Charlie wondered.

_Because you really are a coward. _

Charlie looked up at Don's back. There was no telling by his stance if Don was angry. He hadn't _seemed_ angry when he arrived. And if Don were angry he tended to express the emotion whether he wanted to or not.

Right now, however, he wasn't saying anything. Charlie picked up his pace to walk beside Don, then leaned forward ever so slightly to look at Don's face. He seemed to be concentrating on something, something that was bothering him. Unease made Charlie's heart beat a little faster.

Charlie cleared his throat, and winced at doing so, since it was always a give away that he was nervous. " Um, Don?"

Don looked at Charlie, and Charlie was relieved to see his older brother's gaze soften. " Yeah?" Then Don's gaze went immediately to Charlie's side, and Charlie realized he had been holding his hand there as though trying to keep it in place.

" You okay?" Don asked. Charlie really was getting tired of people asking him that. He swiftly dropped his hand.

" Yeah, just a little sore. I think I pulled a muscle or something."

" Are you sure you don't want to...?"

" Yes, Don!" Charlie snapped, already regretting it, then lowered his voice. " I'm sure."

They headed outside into a sunny, warm, but humid day. The campus still swarmed with students either coming or going, standing still in clusters or rushing to their next class.

Large crowds of the kind that press in and seem to fill up every iota of space – jostling, blocking, and making taking another step near impossible – had always made Charlie nervous, even panicky. The campus was not even close to being that crowded and still Charlie felt the rising discomfort and urgency he normally felt in packed places. He did not like being around so many. It was making him feel oddly... inadequate, unwelcome, and lost. It was a familiar feeling, one he had had for most of high school, having always been the odd one out and despised for it. He had felt it again after their mother had died and he had finally emerged from the garage - worn, sick, confused, and hating himself for what he had done. Alan had said very little to him, absorbed in his own grief and preparations for the burial. Don had said nothing to him, only looked at Charlie with eyes that spoke a single question. Why? And when the question was not answered, Don expressed nothing but disgust. Charlie had felt like an outcast then too, out of place and not welcome. But that had been worse than high school, and worse than now. Charlie had actually wished himself dead, and yet not along the lines of suicide. He had just wanted to vanish out of existence.

Right now, he just wished he were invisible. But was it because of all the people, or because he was outside? Among his myriad of feelings there was one that was in itself the odd one out; the feeling of being exposed.

Why am I feeling like this? There was always a reason for feeling like this. There shouldn't be one now. I'm fine. Every thing's fine. Nothing's wrong.

They came into the parking lot, and Charlie hurried to the car. He tried the handle but the door refused to open.

" Hey Charlie!"

Charlie looked up through the windows to a worried Don who was holding up the keys. " Gotta unlock it first. Slow down, buddy. Relax."

Charlie looked away in embarrassment, feeling heat rise into his face to make it flush. Once Don had the doors unlocked, Charlie quickly scrambled in, dumping his bag in the back seat, snapping on his belt, slamming the door and letting out a relieved breath that took the tension with it. Charlie glanced over at Don, and felt the heat return to his face on seeing his brother staring at him in a penetrating but concerned way. Charlie braced himself for a barrage of questions. Instead, Don just looked ahead, starting the car then pulling out.

" Maybe you shouldn't go in tomorrow, Charlie," Don said. " You're lookin' a little pale there, pal. You really should take it easy. Just take a day, Charlie, sleep in. It'll help clear your head."

Charlie turned to look out the window, and rested his forehead against the glass. He wanted to get back into teaching, get back into routine. He was certain that would clear his head and help him forget. The problem was, no one else was trying to forget, and in turn they were causing him to remember. They needed to drop this already.

Charlie blinked slowly. He did feel tired though, despite having slept like a rock through the night. He had skipped lunch, but only because he had no appetite for it. He had barely eaten breakfast despite the growling of his stomach and the food his dad had made. Food had now become an unpleasant prospect to him, and the thought of eating made him ill.

I'm probably getting sick, he thought.

Charlie sighed. " Maybe I will, just a day."

" Trust me, Charlie. A day'll do wonders. You'll be back to teaching before you know it."

Charlie nodded. They were crawling past the school, and Charlie let his mind drift as he watched the trees and people go by. A man leaning against a lamp-post suddenly straightened when the car neared. He stood with his hands in his jean pockets and a cap shoved far down his head. When the car passed, the man tilted his head up, and Charlie's heart slammed into his throat.

Time seem to slow when the two made eye contact, and the familiarity of the face flashed in Charlie's brain like lightning. Leon smiled, touching the bill of his cap in greeting, then gradually shrank away into the distance as Don drove on.

Charlie's brain froze and his heart dropped into his stomach.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no..._

_A dream, a dream, he was a dream, just a dream, it was all just a dream, a freakin' dream!_

Charlie tore his gaze from the window to look straight head, sitting rigid as a pole, clutching the edge of the seat hard enough for his finger-nails to leave imprints. He started shaking, and found it hard to breathe.

Tired, I'm just tired. I'm seeing things, I'm just tired.

Charlie managed to force his eyes to roll up and look into the review mirror. He saw the lamp post fading away behind them, but no Leon standing there, watching. Gradually, bit by bit it felt like, Charlie's stiffened muscles began to relax, and his shaking subsided. He almost laughed out loud, while at the same time wanted to cry. He felt so strange, as though he were wallowing through a dream, trying to force it to conform into coherence and in so doing making it worse.

Leon could not have been real. He would not have been so foolish as to come out into the open just to tip his hat at Charlie, not if the cops were after him. It made no sense.

So the only logical conclusion was that Charlie was seeing things. And because of that, his brain could not determine whether laughing was in order, or all out sobbing. So he just sat, still and silent, trying not to think at all.

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A/N: Sorry, Amita fans, for lack of any Amita in this chapter. She will be in this story, but probably not for a while. And I'm telling you now, don't expect any romance. I'm not the romantic-writing type. Sorry.


	8. Insomniac

Ch. 8

Insomniac

_Don't push him, Don._

And why the hell not? Don watched Charlie out of the corner of his eye, waiting for his younger brother to move, or at most at least twitch. Don could have sworn that Charlie had yet to blink, and he was pale to the point of being absolutely white. He was also wearing that same lost, helpless look, mixed in with a little misery.

The sickness of apprehension made Don's gut churn. Don't push him... ri-ght. When they were younger, and Charlie refused to come down to dinner because he was wrapped up in some mind-boggling equation, Don would wrap his arm around Charlie's neck, putting his much smaller brother in a non-threatening choke-hold to drag him down stairs. Their mom had hated it, but at least it worked. Don was highly tempted to do that now, but if that wasn't pushing the issue, Don didn't know what was. Besides, Don knew good and well it would only make Charlie panic, even cause him to hurt himself. If vulnerability had a poster-boy, Charlie would be it.

The ride home was thick with silence. It was the perfect opportunity to talk, and here Don was trying to battle his urge to use force.

Don't push him, don't push him, don't push him...

Don sighed. " Charlie?"

Charlie visibly jumped, jerking his head around to stare nervously at his brother. " Y-yeah, Don?" he said, shuddering.

Don felt suddenly tired. How was he supposed to do this? His instincts were actually screaming at him to get Charlie to a doctor - by any means necessary.

Don grimaced inwardly. Yeah, that would go _real_ well. " Um... You mentioned something... about a dream? A dream you had when you were – you know – passed out?"

Charlie looked away, back out the windshield, and seemed to shrink by hunching deeper into his seat. " A dream?"

" Yeah, buddy, you mentioned something about a dream. About something being just a dream. You wanna go into a little more detail on it?"

Was that pushing it? Don wasn't sure. Outside, trees were gliding by. They were off the freeway, back into neighborhoods with houses and yards, and so almost home. Not much time left for 'just talking'.

Charlie lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the door, and began rubbing his temple. " Not really." He looked as though he were going to be sick.

Don was taken back by Charlie's lack of articulation. Normally, even when upset, Charlie was a lot more talkative than this.

Don's grip on the steering wheel tightened. Charlie wasn't making this any easier. " Come on, Charlie. Something's wrong. You know it, I know it... It's just a freakin' dream, what's there not to talk about?"

Don winced. So much for trying to stay on the level. He looked over at Charlie. There seemed little change in his brother's demeanor, then Don looked at his hand resting on his leg. It was clenched so tight that the knuckles were white and his fist was shaking.

They finally arrived at the house, and Don pulled into the driveway. He had yet to turn off the ignition when Charlie unlocked the door himself, grabbing his bag and scrambling out. Don moved with less urgency. He pocketed his keys and slid from the seat. Charlie was already heading to the door when Don stepped onto the driveway.

" Hey Charlie!"

Charlie halted as though he had been caught doing something wrong. He looked back at Don timidly.

Man he looks freaked, Don thought. Genuinely freaked. What the hell's wrong with him?

" I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to get mad. I'm just a little worried, alright? I mean if you don't want to talk about it right now, that's fine. I understand. But... come on, Charlie, you've got to talk about it some time if it's bothering you that much.. It'll make you feel better to get it off your chest. I mean it's just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you."

Charlie just stared at Don, but he could not tell whether his own words were sinking in, or if Charlie had mentally froze up. Then Charlie looked away, and Don knew that he was thinking, hopefully reconsidering. When Charlie looked at Don again, his expression was apologetic.

" Not yet," he replied hoarsely, then he cleared his throat. " I need to... think." He gestured at his head with a stiff, spread-fingered hand. " It's - it's not clear, Don. Not yet. I just need time to get it clear. I'll tell you then, I promise... Okay?"

Don nodded. " Yeah, sure buddy."

Charlie nodded back, then continued on to the door, a lot less agitated than he had been a moment ago. Don watched him go in, moving with the slowness of one whose bones had taken on the consistency of led.

Don tilted his head back, let out a breath, then slowly tilted it forward. He could feel the onset of tension in the form of tightening muscles at the base of his neck. He was really the wrong guy for this kind of stuff. But he knew he would keep at it, even if he only ended up making things worse. The curse of being the older brother was the desire to always want to protect the younger. It was a desire he had forever fought against and lost, one that made him want to both strangle Charlie and hug him at the same time; and no matter how old Charlie was that desire would forever be there.

The problem was, having the desire was one matter, acting on it was always another.

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Dreams were never meant to be this troubling. Neither were they meant to be this easily remembered, or dredge up hallucinations.

Charlie lay curled on his side, buried up to his neck in blankets, feeling bone-weary but unable to close his eyes. He stared mournfully at the digital clock glaring red numbers at him.

Two-fifteen am. He'd stayed up later than that. In fact, there were plenty of times he had stayed up all night all together, only to crash in the late afternoon. Sleep became a hindrance when his mind was working at full-speed and the numbers were pushing to get out, cramming his skull to a bursting point. In all truth, night was the best time to work: everyone asleep, no one calling, no one watching TV, no one walking in just as he reached that pivotal moment of clarity when the answers came rushing out, then trying to strike a conversation with him when it was obvious he wasn't in the frame of mind to talk. Charlie always liked working at night. But then came school, and the worried admonitions of his mother on matters of his health. However, he continued nightly projects when he could.

Tonight, he was awake for far different reasons. His throbbing side felt cramped, and no matter how he lay – on his back or his painless side – it would not go away. Not even pain pills were working. He assumed it to be punishment for stretching too high and too suddenly while working on the chalk-board. It had been bothering him the rest of the day, but now it couldn't even be ignored as background annoyance.

So, with sleep abandoning him, he had only his waking thoughts to occupy him.

Why can't I talk about it, Charlie thought over and over. It was just a stupid dream. I was just imagining things.

_Coward_.

Charlie let out a shuddering breath. It hadn't felt like any three days, being lost. Not even in the dream. Of course, in the dream, it had felt more like an eternity. Once again, not a measurable length of time, but the only accurate description he could think of.

Charlie still wanted that measurable amount of time, despite wanting to forget the dream.

It _had _to be a dream. Nothing in his life had ever made less sense than what had happened in that dream.

So why can't I talk about it? Just tell Don. Big deal. He'll just agree with me.

_Yeah, Charlie, that definitely sounds like a dream. Too weird not to be._

Charlie took a slow, deep breath and felt an uncomfortable twinge in his ribs. Closing his eyes, he exhaled sharply, then threw back the covers to haul himself from the warmth of bed. Wearing sweats and an old red T-shirt, it was his feet and arms that were the first to be assaulted by cooler air. Charlie shuffled from his room, then down the stairs and into the kitchen, carefully stepping in those places he knew wouldn't creak. Charlie wasn't one for midnight snacks, and didn't want to explain to his father why he was up – or what the ice was for.

Charlie took a Ziplock bag from a drawer and began filling it with ice from the freezer spilling cold mist over his arms. When the bag was half-full, he wrapped it in a wash-cloth then carefully touched it to his cramped side. The effect wasn't immediate, of course, so he headed back up to his room, considering the use of duct tape to strap the ice-pack to his side. Then maybe he could get some sleep.

Instead, he sat at his desk, clicking on the small lamp that cast a large circle of amber light on the exact spot where he worked. He pulled a pen and some paper from a drawer, then set to work.

Three days, the current temperature had been around seventy when he had left – say seventy-three. The temperature had been colder when he awoke – around sixty. Rain, moisture, temperatures at night (Alan tended to keep the paper around, sometimes for a week. Charlie liked to calculate the predicted temperature and the actual temperature differences for fun) known animals and their numbers, and body temperature changes when one was lying still and circulation slowed.

Charlie did not know why he was doing this. It was sick, really, and he knew he wouldn't like the answer. Yet his hand worked away all the same as though with its own agenda. He calculated, the numbers and formulas rushing through his brain like a tidal wave. It all came to him so quick and so precise that within only minutes he had what he wanted mapped out in his cryptic, numeric language. It was like a code, and anyone else who saw it would regard it only on the surface – a clever little math problem from a clever little math genius. But what Charlie saw made him go cold all over and his heart grow numb.

He should be dead.

Hypothermia, dehydration, hungry animals... Hadn't Larry mentioned those as well? But he had also made mention of the unusual ways of the human body. There were always chances of survival.

But not according to the equation. As Charlie had once said to Don, he was now saying to himself;

_Statistically, you're dead._

Charlie laid his hand on the paper, spreading his fingers as though touching something delicate. Then, he snatched his fingers into a fist, crumpling the paper and squeezing it, hating it.

So what? So what if I'm supposed to be dead? Don was supposed to be dead and he isn't. Why do I have to be?

_Numbers don't lie._

But equations can be wrong, mistakes made, factors missing. What am I forgetting? Health? scaring off animals with small movements?

Charlie kept crumpling the paper into his fist, gathering it into his palm with his fingers. The ice-pack was finally working, cold seeping through his shirt and skin to numb the assaulted bones and muscles. Charlie tossed the paper into the waste-basket by his desk; a clean shot. He stood, and began pacing the room as he wracked his brain for other factors he could be missing; say for the one he refused to consider.

He looked out his window onto the backyard glowing in the lights of the back porch. He couldn't see the pond, though. The lights didn't reach that far back. It was all buried in shadows thick as curtains.

Then one shadow detached from the rest. Charlie froze, staring, heart beating faster and faster.

That had been movement. Wasn't it? someone moving?

Charlie stared into the darkness beyond the porch lights, never blinking, barely breathing. Everything was still and dead quiet, so quiet that he thought he could hear his own heart pounding.

There, more movement. A shadow moving back into the shadows, melting away into the darkness, too large and moving too methodically to be an animal out to torment the fish. Charlie moved closer to the window and strained to see into the darkness. There were shapes, and he thought a shape moved. But there were deeper shadows, and the shape flitted into them, vanishing - if it had ever been there to begin with.

Charlie's heart felt like it was trying to crawl into his throat. He slowly backed away from the window, dropping into his desk chair. Something creaked – a far away and quick sound. Charlie jumped, peering fearfully over his shoulder. He then looked back out the window, still watching and waiting, staring at shapes and shadows. He knew his backyard, knew everything that was in it. He began calculating the size of objects, the size of the pools of light from the porch, circumferences and areas of forms and shadows. It came easily since he had pretty much calculated everything pertaining to the house at one time or another, front and back, including shadows at various times of day. He already had all the information he needed, he just needed to put it all together. What he didn't know, he soon figured out based on what he already had.

Outcome; everything was as it should be. No shapes out of place, no increased shadows. Nothing new was out there.

Yet Charlie couldn't relax. Something out there had moved.

Unless he was seeing things again.

Just like I saw Leon, he assured. Then quelled inwardly.

I'm seeing things. Since when do I see things? I don't even see what's right in front of me half the time. Don and dad always say so.

Charlie shrank back, hunching his shoulders and shivering as tears filled his eyes to spill over onto his face. He felt sick enough to vomit, too terrified to ever sleep again, alone, and torn between a choice. Either he needed to find the way in which he could have survived alone, or accept the fact that something else had happened.

Charlie turned quickly, grabbing a new sheet of paper from the drawer. He began writing furiously, listing off whatever factors he could figure that might have contributed to his survival. All while tears dropped onto the paper, staining it.

Outside, the sky slipped into the gray of coming morning.

_Coward. _

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A/N: Oh no! Poor Charlie, huh? I honestly believe that the best works of any field are done at night for the reasons I described above. In fact, even as I am writing this it is almost midnight. I think it's why all people of an artistic or scientific nature are insane, or at least a little strange. Not that that's anything to be ashamed of. Power to the nocturnal!


	9. Inner Turmoil

Ch. 9

Inner Turmoil

Confirmation was good, so the signal was a go. Agents in Kevlar vests and protective glasses rushed from concealment to converge on what used to be a meat packing plant. Guns raised and voices shouting, they rushed in to surround the last of the wanna-be smugglers and the remainder of their dirty cargo. The young men barely had time to register the numerous bodies surrounding them with various guns pointed at their heads, let alone take the time to grab weapons for themselves. They held up their hands, stumbling back and tripping over themselves. Several agents lowered their weapons and were on them like vultures on bad meat. Handcuffs clicked into place as other agents spread out to clear the area.

Don hauled one of the perps onto his feet. The guy looked no older than twenty, with a ratty looking face and stringy black hair. The guy was panting in panic, looking around wildly.

" What the hell!" he whined.

Don shoved him toward another agent to be taken away. " Shut up," he snapped. The second agent dragged the kid away, with the rest of the gang following, struggling pathetically and spitting out one continuous string of curses.

A voice in his ear-piece announced a section of the plant to be cleared, and other voices soon followed confirming the same. Don headed over to a crate containing the weapons nestled in straw. David was already there lifting up one of the guns by the butt. It was similar to the rifle David had hanging from his shoulder – sharp shooting but easy to handle. There were also various automatics, rapid fires, and sniper rifles of the kind that would have Agent Edgerton salivating over once he got a good look.

David checked the gun for a clip, but it was empty. He set it back in the crate, then shook his head in disbelief. " That's some nasty fire power they got. Think any of it made the streets?"

Don could only shrug uneasily. One of the agents, a tall blond woman, was crouching by the crate holding a clipboard and pen, taking inventory. The weapons had been intended for the military, but had been stolen en route – not by the recently arrested smugglers – but a group with a little more experience and a lot of bad luck. The group had been caught, but the weapons had remained at large until the young thugs somehow stumbled onto them.

There were three crates in the warehouse, which seemed a good sign. There had been seven crates in all, and those already confiscated had had every gun accounted for.

Megan came up to join Don and David.

" Not to get anyone's hopes up or anything," she said. " But I'd wager that every gun on the list will be in these crates. These boys may have stomach enough not to rat on their buddies, but they didn't strike me as the type to just up and start selling weapons on the street. The guys I talked to always seemed the most nervous when talking about the guns, almost like they didn't want them."

The blond agent moved on to the next crate, lifting guns to check the ones beneath. It didn't take her long to inventory everything, and her final analysis was a thumbs up: not a single gun was missing. Megan grinned proudly like a little kid who just kicked butt in a board game.

" See?"

Don grinned back. " Since when have I ever questioned you? Okay, people, let's get these weapons out of here and clean up."

The tops were placed back on the crates, then the crates themselves were hauled out into an awaiting armored truck. Don, Megan, and David headed from the warehouse to the cars parked outside the compound. David hurried on ahead, being one of the ones to escort the truck to the nearest military base. Don and Megan were left alone to talk, which for once Don found suddenly uncomfortable. He already knew what the conversation was going to be about.

" So, you and Charlie have a good talk?" she asked. Don visibly grimaced. Outside the weather was warm, but there was a cool breeze that made it comfortable, even pleasant. Yet Don found no pleasure in it.

Megan lifted her brow. " I take it that's a no."

" Hey, I tried. believe me, I tried. You said not to push the matter, so I didn't. But Charlie... It's like he's shut himself away, and keeps shutting himself away deeper and deeper. He keeps telling me he needs time to think, but it's like the more he thinks, the worse it gets. Crap, he hasn't been back to school for _two_ days. First he couldn't stand the thought of not going, now he won't go at all."

At this, Megan furrowed her brow thoughtfully. " Weird."

Don sighed. " You're telling me."

" Well, then, tell me how he's been acting around home? Are you still trying to get him to talk?"

A muscle in Don's jaw twitched. " Yeah."

" And?"

" I told you, he says he has to think. Other than that, he doesn't say much, not even to dad. Dad tells me he's working on some kind of project, keeps locking himself in his room, hardly comes down. Dad can't even tell me if it's more PvsNP stuff. Last time I saw Charlie was yesterday, and I gotta say he looks like crap. He looks sick, scared."

They climbed a short grassy incline up to the road and the car parked on the other side of the street with the rest of the vehicles. Don got into the drivers side while Megan crawled into the passenger side. But instead of starting the car, Don just sat there, staring vaguely out the windshield. An image of Charlie had popped into his mind, one of him sitting huddled in the corner of the couch with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. It was the first thing Don had seen when he came to the house yesterday. Charlie had been wearing that distant, spaced-out look, which was a normal look for him – not the fear, however. He had looked sick with unease, and when Don had moved closer, he saw that Charlie was shivering. When Don moved even closer, Charlie shrank back without ever looking at Don. And for a moment, Don thought Charlie had been about to cry.

Don had almost wanted to cry himself, or at least start cursing non-stop. Charlie's behavior was driving him crazy; breaking his heart and making him angry at the same time. He wanted to yell at Charlie, shake him until he snapped from his terror, then hug him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Don just wanted it to end. He just wanted his brother back.

" Don?"

Don snapped his head around to look at Megan. Her demeanor was one of pure sympathy.

" What do I do, Megan?" he asked, and found the asking easier than he had thought. He hated asking for help, but felt he never had needed it more. This was far too important than his pride.

Megan sighed, then shrugged. " Don't stop until he talks to you. Persistence pays off, Don, believe me. Charlie will talk. Be patient, be present, and he will talk."

" But how long do I have to wait? How long will this keep going on?"

" Not long, I would think. Charlie..." she sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth. " Okay, this is going to sound a little wrong, but Charlie is weakening emotionally, mentally. Now's the time to take advantage of that."

Don looked at Megan quizzically. " You mean advantage of him mentally going all to pieces?"

Megan winced. " Yeah. Exactly. But it's not as bad as it sounds. You're not really using it against him. You're giving him what he needs... someone to trust, a shoulder to cry on, stuff like that. He wants to talk, Don, he just doesn't realize it yet."

Once again, weariness became like a led-laden pack on Don's shoulders. He started the car and pulled from the curb to head back to headquarters. Paperwork could wait until tomorrow.

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Don pulled into the driveway of Charlie's house.

Yep, Charlie's house, get used to it Don, should have already, he thought. The late afternoon made the day golden, and as Don got out of the car he caught the distant but pleasant sounds of dogs barking and children shouting in play. It brought a brief smile to his lips, and memories of running up and down these same streets with his own buddies, making similar sounds. But it didn't ease the tension tightening in his shoulders. He took a deep, cleansing breath and headed to the door.

How do you talk to a guy who won't even let anyone touch him?

Don opened the door and stepped into the cool interior. The air smelled good, spicy, and he could hear his dad clattering around the kitchen. Don's gaze, however, went straight to the couch, but he found it empty. He did not know why, but he felt a strange inkling of relief at that. He had never really realized how badly he'd been shaken up seeing Charlie huddled like a frightened child on that couch. Don never liked seeing Charlie frightened period.

Don made his way into the kitchen where he saw his dad sprinkling pepper into a big pot. From the smell alone that made his stomach grumble, Don knew it to be chili.

" Hey dad," Don said.

Alan gasped, and nearly dropped the pepper-shaker into the pot. " Donnie! Whoa, don't sneak up on me like that."

Don squinted in confusion. " I wasn't sneaking."

Alan held up a finger as he set the shaker down and grabbed the salt. " Not intentionally, mind you. But all that FBI training has apparently caused you to develop a silent streak over the years. I didn't even hear you come in." Alan shook some salt into the pot, then stirred it with a wooden spoon. Don smiled, feeling slightly proud – not of startling his dad – but of having the ability to move without being noticed.

" What kind of chili is that?" he asked. " Your's or your great uncle's?"

Alan smirked. " Great Uncle Lou's."

" Do I need to run out and get the antacid?"

Alan's smirk broadened into a grin, and he looked at his oldest son with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. " Oh, come on Donnie, it's not that bad. You just need an iron stomach for it like mine."

Don snorted derisively and rolled his eyes. " Yeah, iron, this coming from the man who drank that whole bottle of Mylanta the last time you made this stuff."

Alan waved a dismissive hand. " Relax, Donnie, I lowered it down to two-alarm."

" That still may not be enough. Hey, wait, doesn't Charlie hate that chili?"

Alan slowed in his stirring, and his smile faded. " He, um, probably won't be having any. Hasn't been feeling too good?"

Don stiffened. " Still? Where is he?"

" Well, he was on the couch. But that kid can be as sneaky as you when he wants to, so he's either in his room, the solarium, or out in the garage."

Alan lifted the spoon from the pot and tapped it methodically onto the rim, knocking bits of meat and sauce back into the mixture. Don studied his father's lined face, and knew from his troubled expression that he had something to say, something difficult, just not the words to say it yet.

" He doesn't look too good, Donnie," Alan stated at last. He then looked at Don suddenly, imploringly, even a little scared. " He hardly comes out of his room, doesn't talk, and I don't know if he's been sleeping or eating at all. I mean I'm assuming he's not because I never see him at dinner and he has dark circles under his eyes. He acts unsteady on his feet. I think he's losing weight, Don. He _looks_ like he is. You can see his ribs when he hunches up on the couch like he keeps doing. He won't even go outside, not even to feed the fish. He loves those fish, Don! And this constant silent treatment..."

Don held up his hands, halting his father before he could go on. The last time Don had seen his father this distressed was when Charlie didn't come home from classes, and Don had made the call that he was missing.

" Dad, calm down. Listen, I'm going to figure this out, okay? I promise. That's why I need to find Charlie."

" Why, to talk to him? Don, he hasn't said a word all day, not even that line about him needing to think."

Don blinked in surprise. " Nothing?"

" Nothing, Don. It's like he's suddenly decided to take a vow of silence. I've been trying to talk to him all day, not even about what's bothering him, but other stuff. Even math. This is scaring me, Donnie. One more day of this and I'm dragging him to the hospital, kicking and screaming if I have to."

A shock of alarm shot down Don's spine, accompanied by an image of his timid, good-hearted, caring little brother stuck in some mental institution with schizophrenics and bi-polar maniacs. Because that is exactly what would happen if Charlie was forced to go to the doctor against his will. He would fight it, they would sedate him, then strap him down. The next thing they would know, the doctor will have convinced them to sign papers committing Charlie, just until they found out what was wrong. But they would never find out, because Charlie would be far too lost in his own terror, having been ripped from his own world. He would never be Charlie again, and Don would have permanently lost his brother.

" Dad," Don said, a little forcefully. " I – will – talk to _him_. Okay? I _will_ find out what's wrong. Just _please_ don't do anything like... what you said. If something did happen to Charlie other than what he told us, it will only make matters worse. I talked to Megan about it and she said so. So let's just try what we can before we resort to force."

Alan stared at Don for a moment, then sighed and turned back to the pot simmering with chili. " Yeah, you're right, Donnie. It's just scaring me, it really is."

Don moved forward, putting his arm around his father's shoulders and giving them a brief squeeze. " I'll talk to him dad. And I'll keep trying to talk to him. I don't care how long it takes."

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All of Charlie's usual house-haunts were a bust, leaving only one – the garage. Don slowly descended the stairs, hesitant because he did not know what he was going to find, and in truth did not want to know. A large part of him expected to see Charlie in a sea of blackboards, scribbling down an unsolvable equation that he once said he would never work on again.

What Don found instead sent his mind reeling in shock, causing him to pause on the last step.

Charlie wasn't doing anything. He was sitting in the middle of the floor, on his knees, with his back turned toward the stairs. He was hunched up, staring at something on the floor. Alan had been right. Don could see the faint outline of Charlie's ribcage through his dark-blue T-shirt. One arm was draped loosely over his leg, the other was pressed to his side, and he appeared to be rocking slightly back and forth.

Don approached Charlie with the cat-like silence he never realized he had possessed until today. He moved around his brother, trying to see his face without getting too near and startling him. It still gave him the impression of approaching a wild, hurt, and frightened animal. Charlie was staring at a wrinkled, stained piece of paper covered in equations, and through Charlie's mess of hair Don could see parts of his face. Tears dripped from Charlie's eyes onto the paper.

Don would never understand Charlie's equations unless explained to him, but that did not mean they didn't spark some familiarity if Don saw them again. What he saw on the paper was new to him, a whole new project telling Charlie something that Charlie could not deal with. Not PvsNp, but something far worse, something painful.

Pity and sorrow swelled in Don's chest, and for a brief moment he forgot all else except for his brother's agony. He reached out a hand, and the tips of his fingers touched Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie reacted in the blink of an eye, jerking to life then scrambling back, falling several times, until his escape was blocked by the wall. He huddled against it, shaking and tensing as though bracing himself for something. Then his eyes met the alarmed gaze of his older brother, and the tension subsided... though not the shaking.

Charlie looked confused, horribly confused, as though he had forgotten where he was.

" D-Don?"

Don moved a little closer to Charlie and crouched in front of him. Charlie's eyes never left him. He was watching Don, watching Don and waiting, and Don hated seeing it.

" Yeah, buddy, it's me. We need to talk."

Charlie began to look wildly about, and Don knew he was trying to find an escape route.

" Charlie? Charlie, you need to relax, pal. Look at me."

Charlie averted his gaze to his drawn up knees. His face had taken on a sickly shade of white, contrasted by the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked like a ghost; gaunt, lost, and forever trapped.

" Look at me," Don said more forcefully, but keeping a gentle undertone.

Gradually, Charlie acquiesced, lifting his his dark eyes to meet Don's. Another tear spilled over, tracing a wet path down Charlie's cheek.

Don shifted to get more comfortable, folding his legs Indian style. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together as assurance to Charlie that Don had no intentions of making physical contact. They sat in silence for a moment as Don held Charlie's frightened and confused gaze, making sure Charlie wouldn't try to look away.

" What's wrong buddy?" Don finally asked. Charlie seemed to shrink, and his eyes began to rove off to the right.

" Hey, no, Charlie, look at me. Do _not_ look away. Now listen to me. Something's wrong, and I need to know what it is, okay? I can't help you if I don't know what it is."

Two more tears fell from Charlie's eyes. He was struggling to not look away, Don could tell. The muscles in his jaw were twitching, and his throat moved as Charlie swallowed several times.

" Can you tell me about the dream?"

Though tears were already falling, Charlie looked ready to break into a sob. He was trembling even more, struggling against something within; himself perhaps, or his own terror. Megan had been right. Charlie _did_ want to tell. But whatever it was holding him back was strong, and all Don could do to help was try to find the right words to coax him through.

It was hard keeping himself from putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder or embracing him. Don wanted to so badly, and - like Charlie - wasn't normally one for doing such things.

" It's all right, Charlie. Come on, buddy, don't do this to yourself. You don't have to. Whatever it is... we can deal with it. I'll help you to. Don't let it eat you up like this, Charlie. Don't let it do this to you. You don't have to. You're in control, not this... thing you're so afraid of. Tell me what it is. I promise, I'll just listen for now. I won't say or do anything, I swear. Can't you just please tell me?"

Charlie continued to struggle. Don glanced over his shoulder, then leaned to the side to snatch up Charlie's paper. He held it up for Charlie to see.

" Is it this?" Don asked. Charlie's gaze shifted to the paper, and the struggle, for a moment, ceased. Suddenly, with the quickness of a striking snake, Charlie's hand lashed out to grab the paper. He then proceeded to tear it into the smallest pieces he could, his expression haunted by sadness and rage. Pieces of paper fell around Charlie like twirling bits of snow, clinging to his clothes or drifting to the floor. When he was done, he drew his hands back behind his knees, with one hand clutching his side, panting with exertion.

Don was taken back, numbed speechless, and now wholly disturbed.

" What – what was that Charlie?"

Charlie didn't answer, and neither was he meeting Don's gaze. Don decided to try something different, in hopes of helping Charlie to relax a little.

" Hey, buddy, look at me."

Charlie did, resuming his struggle.

" We caught the guys, the smugglers, today. We found the gang, the weapons, and every weapon was accounted for. You know how Charlie?"

Charlie just stared at him.

Don smiled. " That equation you gave us worked out great. You really came through, pal. But you always come through. I know I don't say it much, and I know I should but... I really appreciate your help. I mean we really couldn't have done it without you. Crap, a lot of it we probably couldn't have done without you. Or, at least, not as fast as we do it now. The thing is Charlie, you're always helping me. So why won't you let me help you? If you can come through for me, like you always do, why can't I for you. I want to Charlie, I really want to help. And I'll sit here all night, all week even, until I can. I'm not going to leave you like this, Charlie. I can't and I won't. So I'll wait until you're ready. Okay?"

The struggle was increasing, and Charlie's eyes squinted as he fought back a flood of tears that fell all the same. It made Don suddenly uneasy, and he wondered if he had said the right things, or had made Charlie feel worse by laying on a guilt trip. Charlie burdened himself with the problems of others far too easily, and Don had forgotten that.

Charlie inhaled a shuddering breath, as though breathing for the first time in a long while. When he released the breath, his body jerked in spasmodic, silent sobbing.

" Y-You'll think I'm crazy," he said in a small voice, so helpless and unsteady that it added another stab of pain to Don's already overwhelmed heart.

Don shook his head vehemently. " No, no I won't..."

Charlie's hand shot up to his head, rubbing his temple hard in violent agitation. He began rocking back and forth. " You will, Don, you will. I do. I am. I'm seeing things, Don. Everywhere. I look, and he's there. I'm supposed to be dead, Don. I'm supposed to be dead. Head trauma, back injury, blood... there was blood. That attracts animals. It's all in the numbers. They say it to me over and over, and I can't find the factors that would make them say otherwise. I always go back to the blood, and the cold. I should have frozen to death, or been eaten. So how could I have survived Don, because of him? He wasn't real, he was just a dream. He _is_ a dream, Don! He was supposed to be a dream, so why am I seeing him! I can't think Don, I can't figure it out! Help me figure it out, please! Please, I need help figuring it out Don! Please...?"

Charlie dropped his head onto his knees and wept fitfully.

Don could only watch, lost in his own confusion. The urge to embrace his brother was almost torturous. But another thankful attribute of FBI training was the ability to always keep a clear head, no matter what else was going on in his brain or in his heart.

" Who is 'he' Charlie? Who do you keep seeing?"

" Leon! I keep seeing Leon!" Charlie lifted his head, looking at Don with wild, unfocused eyes. " He was supposed to be a dream Don. He had to be a dream! It didn't make sense! He said he needed me, as a hostage, against the cops. So why would he get rid of me? I woke up outside, but he had me trapped! He was always mad Don..." Charlie shuddered, and Don didn't think he could shrink any smaller, but he did, as though trying to shrink out of existence. " He was always angry with me... He attacked me... But the bruises are from the fall..."

Charlie's energy was quickly draining away. His trembling sank into occasional tremors, then slights jerks of his sagging shoulders. He rested his chin on his knees, and his eyes grew distant with weariness.

Don's first thought was that Charlie _was_ losing it, but he shoved the thought to the far reaches of his mind. He wasn't even going to begin to explore that possibility. Everything that Charlie had said was more logically along the lines of what Megan had said, that Charlie was suppressing. What he had described did not sound like any dream. No dream would cause this much anguish in a person.

" Charlie... People don't always make sense. I've told you this..."

Charlie lifted his head, looking desperately at Don. " He was a dream, Don! He had to be, he can't be real!" He lowered his head back onto his knees, fresh tears spilling out of his eyes. " He can't be real, Don. B-but I see him..."

Don took another look at Charlie's hand gripping his side.

" You hurt, Buddy?"

Charlie sniffed, digging the heel of his hand into his unbruised eye. " My side is sore."

" Why won't you go see a doctor?"

Charlie shuddered again. " I – I don't... I don't..."

" Want anyone one touching you?"

Charlie nodded.

" Why?"

Charlie sniffed again, then shook his head. " I don't know... I don't know Don. What does that mean? What's wrong with me? I don't understand..."

Crap, Charlie, neither do I, Don thought. His own feeling of helplessness was creeping back in on him. Then he studied Charlie, noted his weariness, the lack of any tension in his body. Charlie was talking, and had told Don what needed to be said. No, the problem wasn't resolved, but things had changed. something had finally been accomplished, and the helplessness coward back some.

Charlie had confided in Don, and it brought to Don a small sense of relief.

But what Charlie had told Don also brought alarm. If what Charlie had experienced was a dream, then Don had no clue as to what to do. If it wasn't a dream, then Don knew _exactly_ what to do. If someone had hurt his brother, they needed to be caught.

They needed to pay.

" Listen, Charlie. I want you to tell me everything that happened in this dream, all right? Everything you can. I know it'll be hard, and you don't have to if you don't want to, but it'll help, trust me. It's never good to just hold things inside, you need to let other people know. If it's just a dream, Charlie, then it can't hurt you."

" It was a dream," Charlie persisted.

" Yeah, okay buddy. It was a dream. Can you tell me about it?"

" I want to forget, Don..."

Don sighed. " But you can't, can you."

Charlie nodded miserably.

" Then just tell me about it... I'll listen."

There was a very long moment of hesitation, another battle within Charlie. But with the truth out, the struggle was far less intense. Charlie had the choice whether or not to tell, but the resigned look on his face made Don aware that Charlie felt he had no choice.

Finally, Charlie nodded, and told.

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A/N: Yeesss, precioussss, yyyyeeessss. Sorry, don't know what got into me. Okay, Charlie's talking, but please don't think it's all resolved Much more diabolicalness (yes, I know that doesn't sound grammatically correct) to come.


	10. What it all Comes Down to

Ch. 10

What it all Comes Down to

Don tapped the side of the key-board rapidly despite the fact that he wasn't really impatient – more like anxious. FBI databases were freakishly massive, and without a last name to use Don was forced to slog through a mire of info on people with the first name of Leon. On the plus side, he was pretty certain he could eliminate those wanted for tax evasion, known to be out of the country, or are dead. On the down side, there were more Leons out there than Don thought possible, and most of those wanted for criminal acts could easily fit the profile of Charlie's nightmare-man.

Don was even now staring at a guy known for having a history of mental instability. The mug shot was of a heavy-set thug with thinning hair and a huge mustache, but Charlie's Leon could have lost weight and shaved.

Charlie had been unable to recall much about Leon – not that Don blamed him - except that he was tall, strong, and his hair was receding slightly. Given time and careful thought, Charlie might have remembered more, but Don wasn't going to push him. After their little talk, and once Charlie had been able to tone down his emotions, Don had been able to talk his little brother into coming inside and having a bit of dinner. Half a sandwich and a glass of milk had been all he was able to stomach before he had crept off wearily to the couch to just sit (not huddle shivering, thank goodness).

He still wouldn't let anyone touch him, and he was still frightened. He had been even more frightened when Don had left. He hadn't expressed it in any visual or verbal way, but Don had seen it in his eyes – a silent plea for Don to stay. Don would return when his work at the office was done and he had a chance to talk to Megan.

Don shifted in his chair when he felt his leg starting to fall asleep. A new profile and mugshot popped onto the screen, this one of a black guy with a bald head. Don moved on, the next guy being dark-haired and Italian.

Don flitted his eyes away from the screen in order to give them a break, and spotted Megan heading his way.

" Hey Megan, did I ever tell you you're a genius?"

Megan grabbed the nearest rolling chair and dragged it over, dropping herself into the padded seat. She smirked. " Genius like your brother or genius in the sense that some advice I gave you actually paid off?"

Don leaned back in his chair, arching his spine until it popped and the muscles loosened. " I'm inclined to say both, actually. You were right, talking worked."

Megan leaned forward with her arms resting on her knees. " Really, Charlie talked?"

" As much as he could."

" And?" Megan's eyes brightened, taking on that hungry look of someone about to hear some sweet gossip. But Don knew well enough it was only her professional curiosity causing this expression. He leaned forward as well, still cautious about anyone overhearing, which brought about a bad case of deja vu. It was only a couple of days ago they'd been like this, talking conspiratorially as it were. But the mood had shifted, ever so slightly, because there was something to be hopeful about.

" He talked about the dream. I mean it wasn't exactly clear, but supposedly – in it – some guy was... hurting Charlie. He didn't really go into detail, more like rambling. He says he keeps seeing the guy everywhere, some guy named Leon. Charlie says the guy kept getting mad at him and Charlie didn't know why. He kept attacking him."

Megan lifted her eyebrows in alarm. " And he says this was a dream."

Don shook his head incredulously. " Yea, _insisting's_ more like it. He keeps saying over and over how it was just a dream, or is a dream, or was supposed to be a dream. But, personally, doesn't sound like a dream to me. But Charlie keeps saying it was all too weird to be anything else; stuff about Leon needing him as a hostage, then Charlie waking up outside as though he had always been there. He's been working this equation, trying to prove that he didn't need Leon to stay alive out there. But..."

Megan pursed her lips sympathetically. " Numbers aren't being too friendly?"

" They're driving him crazy. And he still won't let anyone touch him, or go to the doctor. But, hey, at least he talked to me, right?"

Megan nodded. " Exactly. It's a start."

Don gestured toward the computer. " Well, I've been trying to see if I can't, maybe, find something that might prove this Leon guy exists. Or is that a bad idea?"

" Actually, if what happened to Charlie wasn't a dream, then it's a necessary evil. Charlie needs some clarity, some grounding, or he won't let anyone touch him again. From everything that you just told me, it sounds to me as though Charlie is fighting as hard as he can to ensure his own mind that what happened to him didn't really happen. Combined with the fact that Charlie was hurt in this supposed dream – for him being touched, even briefly, would be like a nasty wake-up call back into a nasty reality. It would make him think too much about what happened when all he wants to do is forget."

Don straightened. " Yeah, exactly. That's what he keeps saying, that he wants to forget."

" Well, that's probably what's driving him crazy. Not the fact that it did or might have happened, but that he wants to forget and can't. Whatever happened, he can't make sense of it and so doesn't want to."

Rather reminiscent of mom dying, was Don's immediate thought. Of course Charlie hadn't had the same mind-crippling terror as now, but it had been something he couldn't wrap his straight-forward, analytical brain around. Charlie hid too much, that was his problem. What he couldn't handle, he shut himself away from. He locked it out of his mind, then would gradually emerge from it like a man wading into cold water, taking it a few feet at a time until he became used to it.

But there would be no getting used to this, and Don felt uneasy about having Charlie face this particular reality.

" So what happens if we make him face it?"

" Depends. Do it carefully, he should come to terms. It still relies heavily on not pushing him, Don. You have to get him to realize the truth, then give him time to let it sink in. It just all comes down to more talking. Keep him talking, let him talk, and listen. I mean you're obviously already doing a good job at that if he's opened up this much. What else did he say about this Leon guy?"

Don shrugged, looking back at the database still on the Italian man. " Just that he was angry all the time. And that he kept attacking Charlie. The guy had wanted Charlie as a hostage or something. So, yeah, I've got to admit that sounds a little odd. He traps Charlie in case the police show or something, then dumps him like it didn't even happen?"

Megan frowned. " Hmmm. Leon sounds a little off his rocker."

Don grinned at this. " That your professional assessment?"

Megan smiled back. " For now. No, I'm talking full on psychosis, not just some nasty little mean streak or anger management problem. If Leon is mentally unstable then that's why Charlie couldn't make sense of it."

" People generally never make sense to Charlie."

" Right, and I'd imagine mentally ill people practically boggle his mind."

Don shrugged. " Can't really say, he hasn't really met any. Although..." Don began thinking back to the hazy memories of childhood and the one-time only visitation of a relative. " We had this one uncle on my mom's side – a great uncle actually. He was kind of weird. He fought in Vietnam and when he came back was put on meds for depression and other problems. He was a nice guy, but like I said weird. Charlie was around seven or eight when he visited. Totally scared the hell out of Charlie. This uncle would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, shouting crap, and Charlie would either run to my room or our parents. If you dropped a book or a plate, the guy would freak and actually dive for cover. Poor Charlie thought he was going to kill us, wouldn't even go near him. So yeah, if normal people make him slightly nervous, someone with mental problems would probably scare him."

Megan nodded. " Then I'm gonna have to agree with you, Don. Leon probably isn't a dream. I'd start looking for people with major mental instabilities: Schizophrenia, bi-polar, stuff like that. But that's assuming your guy is even in here," she patted the top of the computer screen. " He might not even be wanted by the police at all. It could all just be in his head."

Don sighed heavily. " Someone who pounds someone else for no reason is going to end up on someone's radar. If Leon exists, he can be found."

Megan smiled. " I'll help then."

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A last name would still have been nice, but a profiler's assessment was just as good. Again the search was narrowed, considerably, taking up less time. Don wanted to find proof of this guy's existence today if he could, before Charlie drove himself into a psyche ward.

They brought David in on the search, as well as the situation as best as they could describe it. Still, there were a lot of Leons out there. Those fitting the profile of a schizophrenic, bi-polar, or manic depressive were printed up and gathered in a file for Don to take to Charlie. About ten sheets were collected, fitting both profile and the vague description Don had managed to coax out of Charlie.

" You sure about this?" Don asked Megan as he shoved the file in his bag, then snatched up his jacket. " Showing Charlie this guy exists? Sure it won't make things worse?"

" I don't know. You said he keeps seeing this guy everywhere. That could be a hallucination brought on by stress, but if it's not – if this guy is real and Charlie identifies him – he might become even more frightened. It also might mean this guy's still after Charlie for some reason."

The thought made Don's skin heat with anger. His brother didn't need this crap. If this Leon wasn't going to find it in his heart to lay off and let his brother have a little peace of mind, then Don would make him lay off, even if it required putting a bullet somewhere in the guy's body.

" Good luck," Megan said. Don gave her a weak smile before he headed off. He was torn in two, hoping Charlie's nightmare man was in the file, and hoping he wasn't so he didn't have to see the anguished look on Charlie's face.

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The ride to Charlie's house was fast, even sudden, the product of thinking too deeply behind the wheel. Don was surprised he hadn't hit anyone along the way. He pulled into the drive and stepped out into the warm amber air. He then hauled his bag out of the back and slung it over his shoulder, mentally checking off his inventory of overnight junk.

The moment he stepped into the house he froze. He was immediately assaulted by noise, the sound of his father's voice talking loud and firmly. Don knew that tone, and it made him cringe to hear it.

" Charlie, this is serious. I want you to get in that car so I can take you to see a doctor... _now_."

Don cringed again, and Alan wasn't even yelling. Alan had never yelled at his boys in their entire lives, because all he had needed was that authoritative tone and the use of Don or Charlie's full name.

Charlie emerged from the kitchen, taking long strides, and glancing around as though searching for something. His father followed three feet behind, arguing non-stop though Charlie appeared not to be listening.

" I'm serious, son. You're an adult, you should know better, I shouldn't have to be hounding you like this, but you're leaving me no choice, Charlie..."

Charlie kept moving and stayed silent, still searching, even lifting up books and magazines on the coffee table, then digging between the cushions of the couch. Don's eyes had adjusted to the gloom of indoors, and he was finally able to see more of Charlie's face.

Charlie's eyes shimmered with tears, and there were wet traces on his face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his white button shirt, his hand trembling, then reached into the cracks of the easy-chair. Alan reached out his own hand, touching Charlie's shoulder blade on his way to the shoulder. Charlie flinched, stumbling in his haste to move away. Alan threw his hands up.

" Charlie! What is going on with you! Please, you need to see a doctor..."

Don let his bag slide to the floor, then moved himself between Alan and Charlie, allowing Charlie the chance to escape to the stairs. Alan tried to maneuver around Don, but Don just moved to block him.

" Um, dad? Remember what I told you yesterday about me talking to Charlie and finding out what's going on? You know I did that, right? And told you? And how I told you not to force him into anything if I _was _able to talk to him?"

Alan wasn't looking at Don, but toward the stairs where Charlie had fled. Don heard the sound of Charlie's door creaking softly shut in the momentary silence.

When Alan finally looked at Don, it was with the broken hearted visage of a distraught parent rather than the frustration Don had been expecting.

" Donnie, he needs to go. This morning, I heard him throwing up. Later, I hear him dry-heaving because he doesn't have anything in his stomach _to_ throw up..."

" Yeah, okay dad, but listen. Tailing him like this isn't going to do any good. It's just gonna make things worse. I know you're scared... hell, so am I. But we've gotta do this right. Charlie's spooked and he needs to know he can trust us."

" But Don..."

Don held up one hand. " I know dad, I know." He then crouched and dug through his duffel for the file. When he pulled it out, he held it up for his father to see. " I'm going to try and get to the bottom of this. Maybe it might change things, maybe it won't, I don't know. But if whoever hurt Charlie is real, then he needs to be caught."

Alan brought his hand nervously to his mouth, his eyes darting from the file to his oldest son. " Are – are you sure that's a good idea."

Don shrugged helplessly. " It's gotta be done. And it's worth a try. Might not be anything here anyways."

33333333333333

Charlie pulled books from his shelf, tossing them onto the bed and the floor. He rifled through the papers on his desk, then dug through his bag, flipping through the pages of each notebook.

He found Don's equation, the one timing the smugglers and their movements. Obsolete, garbage. Hadn't Leon said so?

Charlie's throat tightened. He crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it into the wastebasket. He never wanted to see that equation again.

The equation he was looking for, however, he had been unable to get rid of. Now he couldn't find it. He wanted to find it, he had new factors to add, things to change. He wanted the new outcome more than he had wanted anything else in his life.

Charlie, still on his knees before his back-pack, swayed, nearly toppling to the side until he grabbed the bed. His head felt as though it were trying to detach itself from his body, to float up and wander in a haze of nothingness. Yet his body was weighted to the earth, heavy, sluggish, and rebelling against his every move. Charlie pulled himself up onto his bed, then carefully turned and sat on the edge. Tired as his body was, and light-headed as he felt, his heart was racing, and his mind was working too fast for even him. Already the calculations were rushing through his brain, solving themselves of their own accord, but going too fast for Charlie to cling to an answer. Even sitting on the bed he felt himself sway, and knew sleep would cure that. Too bad the rest of his mind didn't agree.

He had seen Leon again, or at least someone who kind of resembled him. Charlie had seen him through the window, across the street, and only now pondered whether or not it had been him. The rest of the time he had been too busy being sick. Now his ribs burned with the pain caused by trying to puke up nothing. He was hungry, but the thought of food made him sick. He would only throw it back up anyway.

_Coward... Coward, coward, coward..._ _Can't handle a little hallucination..._

There came a soft knock on the door that made Charlie jump.

" Charlie?"

It was Don, just Don, that's all. Charlie let out a shuddering breath and relaxed.

" Y-Yeah?"

The door slowly creaked open and Don stepped inside, carrying a Manila folder in one hand. " Hey buddy. Heard you've been bowing to the toilet recently."

Charlie managed a weak, brief smile, then cleared his throat nervously. " Yeah, something like that."

" Feeling better?"

" A little."

Don smiled slightly. " Charlie, you never were a good liar. Good bluffer, maybe, but not a liar. Can I sit?"

Charlie nodded reluctantly. Don made his way around the bed and sat at the far end. Charlie continued to glance around, trying to remember where he had placed that paper.

" Hey, Don? There was this... um... thing I was working on. I can't find it... I remember having it yesterday..."

" You tore it up," Don replied. Charlie snapped his head around in alarm.

" What?"

" You tore it up. Well, you tore something up yesterday. Don't you remember?"

Charlie thought back, but it made the nausea roil in his stomach. He remembered the answers, what they were saying. Charlie winced, and his chest tightened until he found it hard to breathe.

He _had_ torn it up.

" W-Why don't I remember?" he timidly asked.

" You know why, Charlie."

Charlie looked at Don, at the concern in his eyes, then at the folder. " What's that?"

Don handed the folder over to Charlie. " Look through it."

Charlie looked at the file, then at Don, his mind already working since it never stopped. He knew right off what this was about, what the file was. He shook his head vehemently.

" No."

" Charlie," Don said gently. " If he is just a dream, then you have nothing to worry about."

Don had him there. Leon was a dream, so what did it hurt to look at some FBI file? Don hadn't confirmed that Leon was in it.

Charlie took the folder with a trembling hand, his brain screaming at him to toss the file away. He opened it, and breathed a sigh of relief at not seeing Leon's face but the face of a stranger.

Then Don reached out and removed that page, then the page after, and the page after, all the faces of strangers. This would prove it, once and for all, that Leon was a dream.

Three pages to go. Don removed the third.

Charlie's heart slammed as though trying to pulverize itself on his ribcage. He methodically lifted the page up with Leon grinning at him like a man who had just made a new friend, not getting his mug-shot taken. It was that same smile, that same expressionless look that never let anyone know what was really going on within. The face made clear the memories, the cold, the pain, the terror. It rushed back to Charlie as clear as yesterday, and bile shot burning into his throat.

Slowly, as though time had grown sluggish in its passing, Charlie lowered his arm. His head spun, and every beat of his heart made it hard to breathe.

" Is this the guy, Charlie? Is this Leon?"

Charlie dropped the paper, reeling and wavering, his stomach roiling. The bile kept rising, though he tried to swallow it back. Finally, Charlie jerked himself forward, falling to his knees before the waste-basket and leaning over it, heaving and gasping until only a thin stream of foggy liquid came out. When it stopped, he spat, but another soon followed. He heaved again, harder, causing his side to erupt in excruciating pain. He doubled up, hugging his ribs, and leaned miserably against his desk as tears dropped freely to the floor.

That can't be him, that can't, that can't, that can't...

_But it is..._

He heard, distantly, the squeak of his bed as Don got up, then the pop of his brother's joints as he moved to sit beside Charlie. Charlie started trembling at the sensation of someone being so close by.

It really happened! Oh gosh it really happened! But... But...

His mind refused to work. It didn't want to.

" Charlie, listen to me Buddy. You need to hear this. The guy's name is Leon Jessup. He's bi-polar, all right? Which means he's like an emotional roller coaster. Megan told me about it once for another case. They have periods of euphoria interchanged with periods of manic depression. Some of the characteristics include uncontrollable anger. You hear me Charlie? Unpredictable bouts of fury. The guy wasn't even in control of himself. The stuff he did to you wouldn't make sense to anyone who didn't know what was wrong with him. He probably wasn't even angry with you, Charlie, just... angry period. You listening to me?"

Charlie closed his eyes. Bi-polar. Yes, that made some sense. But... But...

Charlie's eyes flew open.

Was Leon really out there? Had that always been him he saw?

More nausea threatened, and Charlie leaned in toward the wastebasket though nothing occurred. He clutched the basket tightly, and feared that if he let go he would fall.

" Charlie, look at me," Don said. Charlie turned his head, peering over his shoulder at Don. Don met Charlie's gaze and held it.

" Listen, Buddy. I know you don't want anyone touching you, but I need to feel your forehead. I need to know if you're sick, all right? If you don't want me to, I won't that's fine, but me and dad are worried, Charlie. You're not eating, you're apparently not sleeping, and I swear you're getting skinnier by the day... Now you won't stop puking. Just let me feel your forehead, real quick."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to feel anything, any sensation.

_Coward._

Charlie opened his eyes. " Don?"

" Yeah?"

Charlie looked at Don, straight in the eye as Don kept asking him to. " Do you think I'm a coward?"

Don blinked in surprised. " What? No. What you went through would make anyone scared."

" Even you?"

Don let out a sigh. " Charlie, when you went missing, that was probably the most frightened I've ever been in my life. Not knowing where you were, or if I would ever see you again... I almost panicked. I mean I've been fired at, had a gun pointed at my head, been around bombs that went off... none of it can compare to what I was feeling when I put out a missing persons notice for my own brother."

Charlie, being the one to hold Don's gaze rather than the other way around, saw the truth of Don's words as plainly as though it were written out all over his face. Charlie had never thought of Don in terms of ever getting scared. It both shocked and amazed Charlie.

" Look, Charlie, I know you're scared. You have every right to be. But don't let it ruin your life." Don pointed at Charlie's side. " Don't let Leon keep hurting you. I know it's hard, but the fact remains that it really happened. You need help, Charlie, you need medical attention. You're letting Leon win by not going, don't let him do that to you."

Don was right. But Charlie couldn't help it. He still felt everything and hated it. But Charlie didn't want to be a coward anymore. Besides, he had nothing left in him to throw up anyways.

Charlie breathed as deeply as his ribs would allow, shivered, then nodded. " Okay."

Don slowly reached out, and Charlie fought to hold still. He felt ashamed for feeling the way he did. He knew Don wouldn't hurt him, that a hand on the forehead was not a punch in the face.

Charlie closed his eyes, then winced when he felt Don's cool hand against his skin. Charlie shuddered in discomfort, swallowing hard.

" You're warm," Don said. " Too warm." Don removed his hand, and Charlie rubbed the area to get the feel out. But it wasn't so bad. His skin had not adopted that sensation of crawling.

" I-I threw up because I saw Leon again," Charlie blurted.

Don stiffened. " Where?"

" Outside, across the street. At least, I think it was him. I saw him at the school, too. It was definitely him at the school. Do you think he's following me, Don? I mean could he be, or am I just seeing things?"

Don began rubbing his jaw, then the back of his neck. " Maybe. Listen, I'm staying over like I promised. I'll call David in, we can do a quick search, see if Leon might be around. You need to do something for me though."

" What?"

" Tomorrow, let me take you to the doctor. You need to go, Charlie. If you don't, Dad'll tranquilize you and drag you there himself. And I'm not joking, he's ready to do it."

Charlie still shuddered at the thought. But, again, he didn't want to be a coward, and his side was worse today than it ever had been before, as though screaming at him to stop ignoring the pain.

Charlie nodded his head. " Yeah, okay Don. I'll go. Tomorrow, though," he added hastily. Not today, not just yet.

Don smiled. " Great, now maybe dad can chill."

Don pushed himself to his feet, and Charlie tried to do the same, but fell against his desk, knocking his side that erupted into fresh agony. He cried out, then began sliding to the floor, but felt a hand wrap gently around his bicep. At first, he tried to pull away, but didn't even have the strength for that.

" Easy buddy. Come on, I got you."

Charlie gave in to the contact, and allowed Don to haul him up slowly, then escort him to the bed. Charlie tried not to lean against Don but couldn't help it. His legs might as well have been made out of jell-o.

Don held Charlie up by the arm in one hand and pulled down the blankets with the other. Still dressed and not caring, Charlie climbed into the bed and dropped onto his good side, wincing at the pain the movement caused. Don pulled the blankets over him.

" I'll get a Tylenol and some ice. You want anything to eat?"

Charlie groaned. " Not really."

" A drink then?"

" Yeah, okay."

" Great. Try to sleep if you can, even if it's not great in the end."

Charlie closed his eyes, but doubted he would be slipping off into sweet oblivion soon. His side hurt too much for that.

" It'll be okay, Charlie. We'll get this guy."

Charlie's throat constricted. " Don?"

" Yeah?"

" Um, th-thanks."

" No problem."

But it was a problem, because no words could express the gratitude that overwhelmed Charlie, and the shame that threatened to drown him.

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A/N: Someone asked me what A/N: means. It stand for Author's Note.

I did a little research on Bi-polar disorder, but it was just general information. If I got something wrong in the info, or Leon's behavior, I apologize. I also apologize for not getting this up sooner. Busy weekend. Just went to my first Renaissance Fair, hoorah! I highly recommend them.


	11. Assessment

A/N: Warning! This chapter contains a smidgen of fluff, but just a smidgen. Very small smidgen. I was going to have it in the last chapter, but it didn't fit. Some may consider it pointless, I don't know, but I liked it so put it in anyways. And why don't we see the bird anymore? I liked the bird.

Also, I would like to apologize if I seemed cold or generic about Bipolar disorder. I'm telling you now, there is more wrong with Leon than just being Bipolar. Before writing the story, I already assessed there should be more wrong with him than just one diagnosis. I just wasn't going to get into it until later when Don and the rest start looking into Leon and why he's wanted by the FBI. After all, they only have a piece of paper telling about him, not yet the whole file. I chose Bipolar because most everyone goes for Schizophrenia, and I wanted to go for something a little different. And yes, Don would be naive – even biased - about mental disorders, and Megan's assessment of Leon as being off his rocker was more a personal vendetta remark because he hurt Charlie and was nothing against anyone with any disorders. It should be cleared up in this chapter.

Ch. 11

Assessment

It was still possible that – even with Leon being real – his continual appearance to Charlie was in fact only a fear-induced hallucination. It wouldn't have been the first time if it was, either. During High school, Charlie had acquired one or two enemies by no fault of his own (so went the ways of being unique). The worst had been a guy that had been on Don's baseball team; Alex Samuels. Six feet straight, and thick as an ox (physically and mentally). Yet for all the kid's supposed density, he'd been clever about planting a few punches on the much smaller and more fragile Charlie without Don ever finding out until later.

Come to think of it, Don thought as he reminisced, stretched out on the couch with his hands folded behind his head laying on the armrest, Alex had cracked one of Charlie's collarbones. Alex knocked Charlie's books to the ground, then kicked him while he was crouching to pick them up.

At least that was the story he had been told by Alicia Daniels. She had been just one of the few girls who had harbored a soft spot for Charlie. And Don had been glad for it. She had been the means for Don's discovery of his little brother's assailant. Charlie had never said anything, except make excuses such as falling out of a tree or getting knocked down by a stray dog. But once the truth was out, it was Alex who suffered it worse once Don got his hands on him. Don nearly got suspended for that, but the rest of the team had backed Don up, denying seeing anything if they had seen anything at all.

Don had never understood why Charlie didn't just tell. He had always assumed it to be some irrational fear that the bullies would find out and exact harsh revenge. That might have been true, but in light of recent events, Don wondered if perhaps Charlie had never told because he wanted to forget. Nothing had ever gotten as bad as it did with this Leon creep, but they had been bad in their own way, leaving Charlie strangely subdued and withdrawn, then jumpy. For one week, Charlie thought he saw Alex standing on every street corner, or hiding behind every bush or tree. But only for a short time. If he didn't forget, he had at least pushed the memories to the dark corners of his mind to be buried in dust – kind of like forgetting in that it no longer bothered him.

But even then, once Charlie had gotten a good look at the supposed Alex and knew it wasn't him, he would immediately relax. Back then, hallucinations had been mere mind tricks easy to dismiss.

It was different now, but neither proved nor disproved whether Leon was in fact stalking Charlie.

With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Don could distinguish black shapes in the blue-black darkness. Moonlight through the windows sharpened those shapes, but gave then unusual angles and edges. His childhood home had altered into a surreal landscape, and Don found it amusing as well as disturbing. If he stared for too long, and too hard, at a particular shape, some of the shadows seemed to move, which made his heart jolt.

Jumpy as he was, Don still couldn't begin to fathom how Charlie must be feeling. Small noises alone would have him snapping awake and looking about in terror. Noises had yet to bother Don, because he knew what to listen for when it came to unusual verses normal sounds. A creak was nothing. More than one was reason to stir.

But he and David had checked the house and yard as thoroughly as they could. They asked neighbors about strange noises or strange people wandering the streets. One guy complained about his dogs going off like maniacs sometime around four in the morning, but he had chalked it up to a stray cat or raccoon.

After a dinner of pizza – which Charlie never came down for – David went home. Alan took some pizza up to Charlie and left it in his room, but both he and Don doubted he would even touch it. Alan had finally let himself relax after Don told him about Charlie agreeing to go see a doctor. In fact, since coming from Charlie's room after the talk and promises, the general mood of the house felt like a rampaging tiger finally settling down for a nap. There was still worry and uncertainty, but there was now room for some calm.

Don, however, must not have been as calm as he thought. He couldn't get to sleep. There was too much to think about, too much to try to understand or figure. The FBI side of his brain wanted to analyze Leon, know who the guy was and what he was about. The regular, everyday Don Eppes part wanted to focus on Charlie, and wonder whether or not his brother might find peace once this whole ordeal was over. The two sides were putting up one hell of a fight, interchanging but never melding together.

Don closed his eyes, shutting out the moon-sharpened shapes, and forcing his chaotic brain to focus on a single subject not related to the present situation.

Don caught the soft whisper of rustling feathers, and grinned wondering if his dad had taught that bird anything new to say. Charlie had actually taught it to count to ten, but then the bird had always been more amiable around him. Most animals were, though Charlie rarely noticed. Their mom's old cat used to follow Charlie around up until it died when Charlie was eight. Charlie just found it annoying when it would sit on his books while he was doing homework. But he had dropped hints, now and then, about getting another cat. Yet their mom had no desire for a replacement.

These thoughts lulled Don's mind into quietude and he felt himself begin to drift into more incoherent images.

Then he heard a creak, followed by another creak, then another. Don snapped upright, only to become perfectly still as he listened. There came no more creaks, and Don saw no distinguishable movement within the shadows. But still he couldn't relax. He had heard something, something that wasn't supposed to be heard this time of night.

" Hi Don."

Don's heart slammed into his ribs, practically knocking the breath from him. " Crap! Charlie? Where are you?"

A light was clicked on, and Don squinted despite the lack of brightness from the lamp. Charlie was sitting stiffly in the easy chair, rubbing his hands on his thighs as though trying to dry them off. He was still in his clothes that were now rumpled. The poor light cast sharp shadows on his pale face, making him look much thinner than he actually was. He gave Don a brief, sickly, sheepish smile, then finally forced his hands to clasp together into holding still.

" Um, I'm just right here. Did I wake you up? I'm really sorry Don, I tried not to..."

Don held up one hand as he used the other to push himself back against the arm rest. " Hey no, it's okay. Wasn't sleeping too good to begin with. Something wrong?"

Charlie looked down at his hands as though studying them. He took a deep breath, and a tremor passed through him as though ice water had been poured down his back. " I just, um, you know, couldn't sleep good either. My side, you know. Kind of bugging the crap out of me," he said with a half-hearted laugh and a poor attempt at a smile. He cleared his throat uneasily and shrugged. " So, you know, I thought 'well, this is pointless' and thought that maybe walking around for a little bit might help get me tired enough to ignore everything else..."

Don blinked sore eyes. " Charlie, did you have a bad dream?"

Charlie looked at Don, though his gaze kept trying to drift elsewhere. " I, uh, thought I heard something. I just... didn't feel comfortable... I know you and David searched and didn't find anything. But it's hard. It's hard not to think he's out there. Even when he was just a dream it was hard. It's different now that I know he's real. I'm not sure how I can explain it, it just feels different. Not really worse, not really better, just different. I guess I'm still not sure what to believe."

Charlie fell silent for a moment, and Don just watched him, waiting for more words or for Charlie to drift off to sleep. Instead, he saw his brother's eyes shimmering, and knew he was tearing up.

" I'm scared Don," he said in a voice trying to remain steady but wavering. Charlie cleared his throat, but nodded instead of spoke as though in confirmation of his own words.

Instead of responding, Don pulled himself off the couch and headed to the antique cupboard where their mom had stored extra blankets. He pulled out the green one, which had always been on the top, then headed to Charlie whose gaze was turned away to stare at the blank TV screen. Don draped the blanket over him, then went back to the couch and sat.

Spare blankets had always been important in the Eppes household. For visitors, yes, but also for those who chose strange places to sleep. Charlie always had a way of sleeping where his math took him. And rather than wake him and allow him to pick up where he left off, their mother would put a blanket over him, and shake her head, commenting on the sore neck or back Charlie would have in the morning.

Charlie turned his head to look at Don, and Don was shocked by the amount of emotion he saw in Charlie's eyes. Not sadness, not fear, but a gratitude so great it seemed to hurt him.

Don didn't know what to say, or even think, to that. It overwhelmed Don, making him feel a little uncomfortable, bringing to mind all the days he had been impatient or angry with Charlie. Recalling the fury toward Charlie when their mother had been dying. Don could not understand what it was Charlie was so grateful for. Don was just doing his job. Just being the big brother looking out for the little brother. No big deal.

Don cleared his own throat. " Um, sure you don't want the couch?"

Charlie seemed to break from his trance. He pulled the blanket up to his neck and shook his head, blinking back tears before they could fall.

" No! I mean, I'm fine. I do have a bed. I just... Anyway, why aren't you sleeping in your old room again?"

" You can hear things better down here, just in case."

" Oh, yeah, okay. Yeah, I guess you can."

They fell into more silence, Charlie's gaze roving the room distractedly. It wasn't long before sleepless nights caught up with him, and his head lolled to the side when his eyes closed.

Don shook his head. " His neck is gonna hurt." But there was nothing to be done. Don rose and clicked off the lamp, then went back to the couch and stretched out. " Just like my back," he muttered before finding a focal point for his thoughts, then drifting off as well.

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The simple task of taking Charlie to the doctor seemed more like a rather morbid family outing. Don had volunteered to take him, but Alan insisted on coming in case Charlie convinced Don to turn around.

Since the appointment had been last minute, the wait was rather long. And it was an agonizing wait to boot. As the minutes ticked away, Charlie's discomfort grew another notch. He began twitching his leg up and down, wringing his hands together, and glancing nervously around.

" Eppes, Charles?"

Charlie jumped, and snapped his head around to look at the tall, middle-aged doctor with the graying dark hair. Charlie rose, cringing slightly, and followed the doctor down the long hall.

He felt like a little kid, wishing Don or their dad would come with him.

_To what? Hold your hand?_

_It's just the doctors, get over it!_ But that was always easier said than done.

They entered the examination room, and the doctor had Charlie sit on the exam table as he asked him questions and had Charlie explain the situation. Charlie delivered his rehearsed oration of ailments Don had forced him to practice, ensuring that Charlie mentioned everything that was going wrong. He talked of not being able to sleep, to eat, about the pain in his side, the cuts on his back that burned sometimes, as well as where all these problems originated.

It was hard talking about it, about being kicked and punched repeatedly by a mad man for no reason. Charlie was vague at first, but the doctor's unceasing questions forced out the details.

" Did you feel something crack when this man kicked you?"

" I – I really don't remember."

The doctor wrote something down on a clipboard, then set both clipboard and pen on the counter. " We may need to take X-rays. Let me take a look at the bruising."

When the doctor approached, reaching out to lift the back of Charlie's shirt, Charlie flinched back, nearly slipping from the table. The doctor halted, startled.

" It's all right, Mr. Eppes. I just want to look. I won't need to do anything immediately."

Charlie tensed, forcing himself to hold still as the doctor checked his side and back.

" The cuts need to be cleaned. There's extensive bruising on your side. You'll need X-rays."

He then lowered Charlie's shirt.

What followed was still unpleasant, even embarrassing. He had to wear a hospital gown, have his blood tested for infection, grit his teeth as a nurse swabbed the cuts with alcohol. The X-rays revealed that he had three cracked ribs, and had to get a bandage around his chest, which was all they could do besides giving him slightly stronger pain medication. He was also prescribed sleeping pills, but it was up to him to enable himself to eat.

When finished, Charlie didn't feel any better, and the bandage around his chest made it uncomfortable to breath. The pressure of it, however, eased the ache in his side.

Once dressed, he was led back out into the waiting room where his father and brother stood as though Charlie had just come out of major surgery. The doctor went up to them and told them of Charlie's situation.

" He's anemic, and showing signs of malnutrition, but it's nothing severe. I'm aware he's been under a lot of stress and still is, so you need to watch him. It's easy to slip off course when you've been through something traumatic." The doctor then turned to Charlie and handed him a card. " On there is the number to the councilors we have on hand if you need to talk. It's not therapy or group sessions, just private discussions. It might help to talk to someone, get things off your chest."

But Charlie had already talked to someone. Still, out of manners, he took the card and thanked the doctor. Right now, though, all he wanted to do was leave.

Going home would have been better, but Don needed Charlie to come into the office. They headed over to headquarters after dropping off a relieved and satisfied Alan who threatened to put sleeping pills in Charlie's tea if he didn't see the younger man take them tonight. Even Charlie couldn't help a small smile at the threat. In a way, despite the discomfort of the exam, Charlie found contentment in the fact that it was finally over and he wouldn't have to be hounded about it anymore.

Yet as they approached the FBI building, Charlie discovered a new reason to be nervous. He knew why Don was bringing him in, and it wasn't to help on a case.

Once they arrived and parked, Don led the way as Charlie followed timidly behind. Don kept looking over his shoulder at Charlie, not even trying to hide his concern. Once they were on the elevator, Don stared at Charlie.

" Sure you're up for this?"

Charlie was staring up though he didn't know why. The numbers were at hand level and it wasn't like he could see through the ceiling to watch the elevator rise. " I don't even know what it is I need to be up for?"

Don looked at the floor. " A recount, Charlie. There's someone I need you to talk to. You'll need to remember a few... things."

Charlie's throat tightened. " Oh."

When they reached the top and stepped out, they were met by a man who was both around Don's age and height, though a little more thickly built than Don. He had cropped sandy hair and a somewhat round face, with gray-blue eyes that were quick to focus and penetrate, assessing everything at a glance. He was wearing a white shirt, and over that the standard dark blue FBI jacket. He was sitting on the corner of a desk, and rose when Don and Charlie approached him.

" Agent Eppes?" the man asked, looking Don over quizzically. Don held out his hand and the man took it in a single shake.

" Agent McAllister. Glad you could meet me. This is my brother Charlie, the one I called you about."

The agent looked over at Charlie and nodded once in greeting. " You saw Leon then?"

Charlie cleared his throat. The way the agent was looking at him, hard and unwavering, was making Charlie nervous. " Um, yeah, I did."

McAllister nodded, then looked at Don. " Let's talk then."

They headed into the conference room where they found Megan talking to a woman with dark red hair that went past her shoulders and a slightly freckled face. McAllister gestured at her.

" Agent Eppes, this is Agent Hanson, our profiler on the case."

Hanson rose and shook hands with Don, but only smiled and nodded at Charlie. They all sat down, except for McAllister who stood at the front of the table.

Agent McAllister had seemed the no nonsense type the moment Charlie had seen him, and proved the assessment true when he jumped straight to the point.

" We've been after Leon for a year now. He's all that's left of a team of professional thieves we've been hunting for a lot longer. And when I say professional I mean it. These weren't your dress up in black, breaking and entering using clever toys bunch. These guys went high tech. Sort of like those Charm School Boys you dealt with last year."

Charlie winced inwardly at the memory, though Don didn't even bat an eye.

" The thing is, our boys didn't even need to actually rob the bank. One method they used was to get hired as employees, hack into the system to ensure they were hired, and if they weren't then they'd try something else. Come in as maintenance workers, computer techs, whatever they could to get to the computer systems. They'd then set up programs that would download as much info as they could, or at least make it easier for them to slip into the heavily secured systems. They never got greedy, just took what they could when they could. Been traveling all over the country doing it, and showed up here two years ago. They were patient, that was their strength. They took their time, planned everything out to the last detail, and never even had to fire a gun. When the heist went down, it went down fast. Took us four years to figure these guys out, four freakin' years, even with collaboration from FBI all over the country."

Agent Hanson turned herself to face the rest of the group. " They were always a step ahead. We started calling them the Spooks because of the way they slipped in and out without ever being seen."

" So what was their downfall?" Don asked. " I'm assuming there was one if you're hunt went from a whole group to a single guy."

McAllister nodded, his expression grim. " Believe it or not, their _downfall_ came from the inside. A kind of a falling out, all thanks to our buddy Leon. Kind of stupid luck, really, that we caught any of them. Gun fire was reported, cops went to the sight, and those that survived and didn't run off started confessing. They were handed over to us, and through them we were able to round up the rest. To make a long story short, it seems Leon instigated a little paranoia between the gang. There were around eight guys in all, and Leon got them all to take sides. When we asked why, this one guy said it was because Leon started getting paranoid, talking about the possibility of betrayal because someone in the gang wanted all the money for themselves. The paranoia spread, fights broke out, and in less than two minutes the Spooks had disbanded. Supposedly, Leon did most of the shooting, even killing guys who had taken _his_ side."

Now it was Hanson who took over again. " The symptoms of being Bipolar include extreme mood shifts with manic episodes. One week a person might be extremely energetic, happy, irritable, angry, and sometimes even violent though not always. Another week they may experience major lows, loss of interest, major depression. Or the person can return to a normal emotional state. It's not easy to diagnose, but when it is a person can still lead a normal and healthy life through medication and counseling. What's going on with Leon, however, is more than him simply being Bipolar. We were able to track down his history over time, and learned that he was temporarily hospitalized by court order – not for being Bipolar – but for extreme violent tendencies, like nearly beating a man to death because the man grabbed the wrong beer. We talked to the doctor who had treated him. He had diagnosed Leon as being Bipolar after careful observation and questioning. He put him on various meds which helped to rein in the mood shifts, but did not stop him from acting out in violence. It's why his doctor also diagnosed him as being possibly sociopathic. _Possibly _because Leon sometimes expressed remorse without being coaxed to do so, even if it didn't always seem sincere. He could just have extreme anger management problems. He was also a paranoid, which was at its worse when he was off the meds. For the most part, Leon's the type who looks out only for Leon. He's smart, which is why the gang recruited him. He was the reason for the gang's success. Whatever Leon planned, they did. Then – and this is my theory – sometime during their spree, Leon stopped taking his meds. Probably realized we could track him through the prescriptions. Paranoid and smart can make for a dangerous combination. So, off his meds, and coupled with his other problems, Leon lashed out and brought the whole organization down in a day."

" Did the doctor say why Leon was even released if he was so violent?" Megan asked.

Hanson smiled bitterly. " Good behavior. Leon was smart, he wanted out, so acted the part of the good little patient to do so. Personally, I think he found the gang instead of the gang finding him. Put the gang together himself. For a time, I even believed Leon instigated the conflict with the gang to get them out of the way and take what was stolen. But, after hearing what happened to your brother," Hanson said, looking at Don, " it got me wondering."

Megan looked at Charlie. " We still can't figure why Leon let you go. He might have thought you dead, so useless. But had that been the case, he wouldn't have left you where someone could find you. The other possibility is that he didn't want to be tied down to one spot keeping an eye on you."

Hanson nodded in agreement. " Off the meds, on the meds, he might become irrational at times but that doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing. I mean he's eluded us this long despite all his former buddies being caught or killed, so he must be doing something logical." She then looked at Charlie. In fact all eyes turned to him, and he had to fight the urge to shrink under so many gazes.

" I was told that you've seen Leon recently?" Hanson said.

Charlie shrugged uncertainly. " Outside my house, at the school. But I wasn't sure."

Hanson shifted her gaze to Don. " We need to find him. I don't need to tell you that the man's dangerous in more ways than one."

McAllister leaned forward with his hands on the table and looked straight at Charlie. " Can you remember where Leon took you?"

Charlie's heart felt as though it had dropped into his stomach. He hadn't even been able to see five feet of sidewalk during that storm. Happening on that warehouse and Leon had been chance, a statistical anomaly. And he'd been just as unaware of his surroundings when heading home. It was anomaly he had even _made_ it home.

" It was a warehouse," Charlie replied, not knowing what else to say.

" Could you find it again?"

Charlie shook his head and began rubbing his forehead in agitation. " I'm... not sure. I couldn't see, that's how I got lost." In all truth, Charlie didn't want to find it again. He didn't want to have to go back.

" We could retrace his steps," Don suggested. " Start from CalSci, see what we could find."

Charlie looked at Don in alarm, but did not protest though the prospect of going back made him sick to his stomach. Don looked at Charlie, and apparently took notice of his brother's distress at the suggestion.

" You don't have to go, Charlie," he said. " Just point the way. It can't be that far from campus if you just stumbled on it."

Don's words should have helped Charlie relax, but they didn't. He nodded stiffly; a non-committal reply.

" I doubt we'd find anything," Hanson said. " Not if he's on the move."

" Why wouldn't he just leave the city?" Megan asked.

Hanson could only shrug. " We may know a lot about Leon, but not everything, like what he's up to. Why he might be following Charlie..."

Why he didn't just kill me? Charlie thought. The more he learned of Leon, accepted the reality of the man, the sicker he felt. There were no equations for men like Leon, no formulas to break him down to patterns and habits. He was the real anomaly in this whole situation.

And, apparently, he couldn't be caught.

Charlie doubted he would be able to eat any time soon.

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A/N: Leon's actions and mentality are _not_ a reflection of those with Bipolar disorder or what I think people with the disorder act like. Leon is my own creation, made-up, with various instabilities, and not based on anyone with similar problems. I'm not sure if someone with Leon's problems would act as Leon does, but I needed someone who was both violent and unpredictable, so used what I could and knew of. To learn more about Bipolar disorder there are numerous websites that you can visit. I would give an address, but I can't find the one I was using. There might also be better sites than the one I used. I just needed basic info to use for a definition.


	12. Facing Facts

Ch. 12

Facing Facts

Charlie was stuck in an uncomfortable silence as he rode with Don to the campus. He wanted to say something by way of an explanation as to why he didn't want to go back to that warehouse. He felt an explanation was needed, even though Don insisted that he understood.

But what was it he understood exactly? That I'm afraid? Too scared to go back even with the FBI all over the place?

_Coward, coward, coward..._

Charlie closed his eyes and felt his insides shrivel. That whispering, biting, laughing word was never said by his own voice. It was always Leon saying it, because he had known. because he was right. All Charlie ever did was escape, then hide and avoid. He had never understood why and still didn't, and pondering it had caused him to think back to when his mother had been dieing. The initial shock and disbelief on learning that his mother wasn't going to be around for much longer had escalated into a paralyzing terror. He literally had been unable to move. But how that led him into PvsNP he couldn't recall. It just happened really, as though he had fallen asleep and drifted into a dream. But all that dream had done was to temporarily numb him, so perhaps it was less like going into a dream and more like slipping into a drug-induced stupor. Coming out of it had been hell; weariness and a deep, stabbing sorrow consuming him like white fire until all he could do was retch and sob.

_Pathetic, too._

" You know what?" Charlie said, trying to sound a matter of fact though his voice cracked slightly. " Maybe I should go with you. I mean it can't hurt right?" He looked over at Don and smiled wanly. Don looked at Charlie as though he had just lost it.

" You sure about that, Charlie?"

Charlie swallowed and nodded, forcing a manner of nonchalance. " Yeah, I am. It's just a place, right? Besides, by retracing my steps I might be able to calculate the exact location of the place and then we wouldn't waste so much time searching in hopes of stumbling on it like I did."

Don glanced at Charlie incredulously, then shrugged. " Okay then, if that's what you want."

Charlie nodded, and said with as much conviction as he could muster, " It is."

On arriving at the school, Charlie was suddenly stabbed by guilt. He needed to get back to teaching and let Amita have a break. It was ridiculous, all this hiding.

Unless seeing Leon wasn't a hallucination.

The agents drove into the near-empty parking lot. It was late afternoon, on a Friday, the day when there were the fewest classes.

The agents piled out of the car and clustered together behind them. There was Agent McAllister, Hanson, and four other agents, plus David and Megan. Don filled them in on Charlie's change of heart, then they let him lead the way as he retraced his steps that stormy day when all hell had literally broken loose.

The sidewalk along the street had always been his usual route home. Once upon a time, every detail of that route had been burned into his brain to become as familiar and simple to him as the times table. Thanks to that instinctual recollection, he had managed to find his way home. But now as he walked the path, he began to notice new details; steep inclines and hills he had one taken for shallow ditches, bramble choked pathways leading into the woods, the amount of traffic continually streaming by (he had never thought it this heavy). They were small differences really, nothing easily noticed unless one were paying attention. And since when did Charlie every pay full-on attention to anything? Especially when whipping past his surroundings blurred by speed.

The woods would stop at the bridge, which was still a ways off. Charlie remembered riding hard and fast, trying to get out of the pounding rain. He had veered - he must have – onto one of these forgotten paths. His fall had been unobstructed, a place where there had been either few trees or no trees at all. One thing he was certain of, it had all happened before he crossed the bridge.

The trees were fairly close together, except for where paths appeared. When they came to a path wider than the others – wide enough for a bike rider to veer onto easily, where no branches could snag or slap him, Charlie turned onto it. Had he just turned sooner, he would have collided with a tree, and never met Leon.

" This might be it," Charlie said. " But I can't be sure."

Then he was sure. The density of the trees on either side of the wide path hid what lay behind. The trees ended suddenly, and the steep hill afforded them a clear view of what lay on the other side. Charlie's heart plummeted to his feet, and his blood went cold.

There was the warehouse, at the bottom of the hill and several yards away. Seeing it struck Charlie like a blow to the gut, and that old paralyzing fear rooted him to the spot.

" That the place?" McAllister asked, but his voice sounded far away and resonating, like something disembodied. It became lost in the shouts in Charlie's brain, all screaming at him that he needed to leave, needed to run, now.

Charlie felt a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, snapping his head around to look at a worried Don.

" Sorry buddy," Don said, removing his hand. " You kind of froze up there. I'm assuming this is the place?"

Charlie, unable to suppress a shudder, nodded numbly. The rest of the agents picked their way carefully down the hill, sliding part way and creating small avalanches of pebbles and dust. Only Don stayed behind, waiting for Charlie.

" You want to go back?" he asked.

Charlie's heart pounded, his hands shook, and his legs felt as though they might give way at any moment.

It's just a place, and empty place. I'm not alone this time. Don's here.

But there was a part of Charlie that dreaded walking toward that place, only to wake up halfway there and find that everything else – his escape, coming home, talking to his dad and Don, going to the doctors – had all been the dream. That he was still in that place, with Leon towering over him, readying another kick.

" Charlie?" Don asked again.

_Coward!_

Charlie shook his head stiffly.

" I don't know, Charlie. You're starting to go all pale, maybe you shouldn't do this..."

" I need to," Charlie said with gritted teeth, and proceeded down the hill.

It was always said that by facing one's fears, they can be overcome. Charlie believed that, or at least he wanted to. But the closer he got to the warehouse, the faster his heart beat and the quicker his breath came. He shrank, curving his back slightly, like a frightened child forced to approach a leering bully. Charlie knew that feeling all too well, and he hated it. But he couldn't stop it either.

McAllister and three other agents had gone inside the place, while the rest covered the grounds outside.

Charlie kept moving toward the warehouse, his spine rigid enough to snap, his muscles tense enough to pull apart, and his mind shouting in panic. Don walked beside him like an escort, relaxed say for the betrayal of concern in his eyes. He glanced at Charlie now and then, but had yet to say anything more.

Charlie stopped outside the warehouse door, staring up at the windows that stared back; empty eye-sockets, and even emptier darkness. Charlie shivered with imagined cold and remembered pain. Pain inflicted for no reason, unless Charlie was so naïve he couldn't even see the reason. Charlie didn't put it past himself to be that oblivious.

Charlie froze up again. He knew he did because he found he couldn't move his legs. Terror was suddenly stifled by anger.

This is stupid! It's just a place! Stop being afraid of a place! Leon isn't even here.

The anger thawed Charlie's nerves enough for him to move again. He strode stiffly into the building, Don keeping perfect pace since he had longer legs. Charlie faltered for a moment when he found the lights to be on, and it momentarily disoriented him. He only knew the place as being drenched in shadows, and he felt a small twinge of relief to be able to see the place in full, as though it were a different place all together.

The warehouse was huge as warehouses usually are, with a metal grated walkway going the perimeter of the building, and doors everywhere. Charlie continued on toward the back and an open doorway leading to a flight of stairs. Charlie took them quickly, and on reaching the bottom his gaze became transfixed on the sliding door already pulled open and light spilling out beyond it.

Charlie slowed, approaching as though walking up to a vicious monster trying to sleep. He saw the shadows of the other agents moving around, and slowed even more. He began trembling, and felt suddenly very small and cold.

" This is hard, Don." He looked up at his older brother. " It's a stupid place. It shouldn't be so hard."

Don returned Charlie's gaze sympathetically. " Bad stuff happened here, Charlie. Of course it's going to be hard." Don then looked away, down toward the floor, and sighed, placing his hands on his hips. " I don't think this was a good idea, Charlie. You're not ready for it."

Charlie looked toward the door and took a deep breath, gagging on the smell of mold and bad water. " I'm not a little kid, Don. I shouldn't have to be protected like this. There's no reason, no logical reason, to be afraid of this place. And I'm sick of being afraid. I want to do this and get it over with."

Charlie forced his body to move before Don could say anything else. Charlie walked into the room, not as quickly as he would have liked. He slowed even more once beyond the threshold, moving with the caution of an animal coming out of its hole to check for predators.

The place was empty say for a few stained fast-food wrappers and sacks. The sight of them nearly caused Charlie to choke on his breath.

Why am I doing this? I'm not proving anything, I'm just making it worse.

A cold sweat broke out on Charlie's forehead, and sweat trickled down his back and flanks. His breath kept coming fast and short, and it felt difficult to breathe. He managed to make his way to the boxes, then around them. A female agent was crouched, looking at something on the floor.

" Found some blood," she announced. Charlie craned his neck to peer over her shoulder, and saw splotches of smeared blood on the concrete, right where he had been laying. He looked at the crate he had sat against, and saw stains that were darker than the molding wood.

Full, untainted reality finally hit Charlie with the force of a speeding semi. It had happened, it was real, it always had been real... and he was back at where it had started.

Charlie had never considered himself claustrophobic, but he was feeling it now, and his body surged with the adrenaline of panic. He turned, and moved quickly from the room, back up the stairs and through the chamber to the open outside and the fresher air. But once outside, he kept moving, heading in the direction of the warehouse road, only to stop abruptly on seeing Megan several feet ahead, looking around.

The panic drained from Charlie, and left him numb and confused. He could not stop trembling, yet was able to steady his breathing and take in lungfuls of clean, warm air. The sun was beginning to set, slipping away on the edge of twilight that cooled the sky. There was a cool breeze that smelled of pine, cedar, soil, and touched with the faint oder of exhaust. In the silence, Charlie could hear the distance rushing whisper of traffic.

It was like an alternate reality to that in the warehouse; two worlds completely separate from each other and oblivious to each other. But this reality – the outside everyday world – was reassuring, calming, and far more tangible. Charlie's shivering toned itself down to occasional tremors, and his heart had stopped slamming hard enough to break more ribs.

But with the fear gone, shame was able to slip in. He had run from the warehouse like a spooked four year old from a strange adult, and it made his face burn with embarrassment.

" Charlie?"

Charlie looked over his shoulder at Don. He hadn't realized he had approached, but then Don had always been good at that.

Don had his hands in the pocket of his FBI jacket, and except for the worry in his gaze had a relaxed air about him that Charlie suddenly despised out of jealousy. Charlie wished he could be that relaxed, at least once in his life.

" It was too soon, Charlie," Don said. " That's all. You needed more time."

Charlie turned to face Don, but could not look at him. Instead, he let his eyes rove over the ground, then the trees in the distance.

" Don, Do you... I mean... Do you see me, or maybe, sometimes, think of me as being... um, cowardly?"

" What? Charlie..."

Charlie finally tore his eyes from their wanderings and forced himself to look at Don. He wanted to see the truth – pure truth – and not just hear words minced by brotherly concern. Even Don had to realize the truth.

" Come on Don, admit it, it's true! I am. What else would you call what I did when mom was dieing, or when you got shot?" Charlie's gaze began to wander again, because in all truth he had never been good about holding gazes, especially when he turned inward to his thoughts. " I hide Don. I always hide. I can't – I can't handle anything bad. I never face anything. I go and I hide. What would you call that, Don? Coping? My way of handling things? Leon was right about me. He saw the truth. I couldn't even handle it when my equation didn't find the smugglers in time. I had to come up with something better. I felt like it was my fault. People walk into a room, and they startle me. I'm always getting spooked, my heart's always jumping..." Charlie shook his head, his throat constricting with sorrow and his eyes stinging with tears.

It was quiet for a moment, enough for Charlie to hear the crickets in the distance chirping their monotonous interlude. Had what happened at this place not tainted it, Charlie might have found their surroundings to be peaceful.

" You had every right to be mad at me when I hid while mom was dying," Charlie blurted. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at the ground. " Every right." He smiled bitterly. " I deserved it."

Charlie heard the crunch of gravel as Don shifted his weight to his other foot. " Charlie... You didn't deserve any of the crap I gave you after mom died. Yeah, okay, I didn't get it, but that didn't give me the right to keep blowing up at you. Hell, I probably only made it worse. Probably drove you deeper, scared you more. I never thought about it before... but I've been thinking about a lot lately. And you know what, Charlie? I've started realizing a few things. Like the past couple of days, I could have forced you to tell me about Leon. I could have gotten mad, grabbed your arm, your collar... you know... like I did when I tried to get you out of the garage?"

Charlie winced slightly at the memory. Charlie's arm had been sore for days, and there had been bruises on his collar bones where Don's knuckles had dug as he had gripped Charlie's shirt. There had also been insults, nasty ones, but Charlie didn't remember them exactly. Just that they had added to the mountain of pain crushing him after he had emerged from his sanctuary.

" Anyways," Don continued. " There's a lot of things I could have done. Yeah, it might have gotten things done faster, but it wouldn't have helped you, which was all that really mattered. And it made me realize that... I should have done it a lot sooner, if you know what I mean. I never even tried to understand why you did what you did. I was hurting too, and didn't see much else going on around me. Your pain wasn't the same as my pain, so I didn't understand it, I didn't even want to try to. It wasn't right... what I did, I mean. I wouldn't see past myself. I didn't realize how bad it was until you came out, looking sick and skinny like that... I guess you could say, I kind of hid too, but I find being angry a lot easier than doing math."

Charlie looked up at Don, taken back by the sudden confession, and so surprised that for a moment Charlie wondered if this was really his brother standing before him. Don had never been open about anything before, not like this and not so easily. And Charlie did not know whether to cry in appreciation or be worried because it meant that things were a lot worse than they seemed, and it was getting to Don as well.

Then Don smiled and waved for Charlie to come over.

" Come here."

Charlie nervously complied, then cringed, trying to back away, when Don draped his arm around his neck. But when Charlie tried to maneuver from the loose embrace, Don just pulled him back. He began guiding Charlie away from the building, back toward the hill.

" Come on, Charlie, relax, just relax. Listen to me. You _are_ _not_ a coward, you hear me? A coward wouldn't even try to face his fear, and you're trying. You just... you think on different terms than most people, handle things different. I mean face it, there's some things you don't get right away, and some things you don't get at all. Like that time I made that comment about putting the dog into witness protection because it saw it's owner die. You actually thought I was serious."

Charlie allowed a small smile at the memory. " I only asked if that was possible."

" Yeah, but you were freakishly sincere about it. You've got a unique brain in that head of yours, Charlie. You deal how you deal. That doesn't make you a coward."

" You're just saying that because you're my brother and you have to."

Don chuckled. " Charlie, as your brother, I should be saying the opposite. Or calling you a geek. But I like to think I matured at least a little bit over the years."

Charlie allowed another small, temporary smile. Then he glanced back at the receding warehouse. Cold crept down Charlie's back, making him shudder.

They stopped at the foot of the hill, and Don slid his arm from around Charlie's neck. Charlie had forgotten it had been there.

" Wait here, Charlie," Don said. He moved away from Charlie, calling to David who had emerged from around the warehouse. David jogged over toward Don, and Don met him the rest of the way. They were distanced away enough from Charlie for him to have to strain to hear. He heard his name, the mention of his house, and setting up some form of surveillance around the neighborhood.

It was a cold realization to the fact that this wasn't over, and an even colder realization that Charlie really hadn't faced what was truly scaring him. The building was only a reminder of his terror, of what happened. Leon was what he was afraid of, and he wasn't exactly someone Charlie could just walk up to and face.

Don could, but Charlie wasn't Don. Charlie wasn't like most people, and though Don's words had been comforting, they weren't reassuring. Charlie couldn't shake his self-opinion. Fear just came too easily for him than it did for Don.

McAllister exited the warehouse, followed by another agent, and joined Don and David's little conference. Charlie moved slightly closer to listen in better. McAllister was only confirming the obvious – that Leon had been gone for a while. Don confirmed that the blood was most likely Charlie's since he had scraped up his back.

All in all, there wasn't much in the way of being useful to discover. But just in case, McAllister suggested putting up surveillance around the place, should Leon return.

But he won't return, Charlie thought. His focus was pulled from the conversation to turn inward, analyzing, calculating. McAllister had said they'd been tracking Leon for a year, which meant the guy was good at hiding. He was smart, and recruited as a mastermind because of it, which meant he knew how to plan. And Hanson had the suspicion that Leon, despite his mental state, knew what he was doing. He knew math, he understood Charlie's equations, got them at a glance.

Leon had been right about something else; whether Charlie liked it or not, they were _kindreds_ in a small way. They were both men of logic, of patterns and calculations, even perfectionists. The only way Leon could have eluded the Feds for so long was if he had a method to his hiding; a plan or pattern. He would seek out places to hide, which would keep him on the move. He would chose those places with the fewest people, or with so many people it would be easy to become lost in a crowd. Financial info would be at his disposal for money needs, and he could easily switch to various people's accounts. But above all, he would not come back to the same spot.

A Neighborhood like Charlie's would make for an ideal hiding place. Low crime-rates, so lack of need for police. Same with the campus. It made Charlie wonder if Leon was following him in hopes of finding a place to hide.

Then why pop up all the time? If Leon was watching him, then he would know by now that he had a brother who was a Fed. That discovery should have chased Leon off, but Charlie continued to spot him at various places and times. It didn't make sense.

But Charlie didn't need anyone telling him he was missing the most important factor, the one he always missed: the human element. It always had a way of throwing everything off,of altering all outcomes like a domino affect. It was also why – as Don had put it – Charlie didn't get things right away, or didn't get things at all. People just weren't meant to be broken down into equations.

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A/N: I have a confession to make. I had know idea how I was going to end this story... Until now. We are nearing the end, though I can't say for sure how many chapters are left since they may be short. Things will soon take an interesting – and hopefully intense – turn. Prepare to be shocked!

I also want to apologize for all the fluff the past couple of chapters. But - dang it! - it's necessary. After all, I wanted a story with a more caring Don because he always seems like such a grouch and - at times - a little rude to Charlie. If you think he's a little _too_ caring or _too_ open, you'll know why in the next chapter. Unless you already know, then it's all good.


	13. Absence of Reason

A/N: Just a small smidgen of fluff in this one, and only for a moment. Things are about to take an unusual turn.

Ch.13

Absence of Reason

It was going to be a cool night, the kind that at any other time would have had Don sitting outside with a plate of food and a beer, with Charlie sitting next to him. It was the kind of night that allowed them to just sit and talk about nothing and everything, where work had no meaning and only reminiscing mattered.

But it wasn't like they did that all the time. It was more a haphazard tradition, and dependent on the weather and their perspective moods. Today, however, circumstance was the problem.

Don skirted the koi pond, flashing the beam of his light into the shadows on the other side of the tree. He had made outside rounds with David three times now, and still felt dissatisfied. The situation was altering his perspective, making the house and backyard seem much larger, with too many nooks and crannies for someone to crouch in and hide. There were too many shadows, not to mention a lot of dogs barking tonight.

Don had to pull himself from the pond and into the house. David was already inside, having finished, and was talking to a rather tense Alan. Charlie was no where in sight.

Don clicked off his flashlight, shoving it into his side pocket, then dropped himself onto the couch. He glanced at the clock on the wall; eight-thirty seven. Not that the time meant anything, but Don could have sworn it was much later. It _felt_ much later.

Don and David were the only ones taking watch on the house. McAllister had his team covering the streets, making periodic rounds in cars, and before that – when there was still daylight left - asking passerby questions.

Neither Don nor McAllister believed they would find Leon tonight. Everything they were doing was a precaution, and neither had yet to decide how long they were going to keep it up. Both men believed Leon would be long gone by now, but both Megan and Hanson were skeptical. Leon was too unpredictable, so it was better to just play it safe.

Don glanced over at Alan and David and watched as they finished up their conversation. David then headed into the garage for another check. Alan moved to the easy chair and eased himself into it with a satisfied grunt.

" What'd you two have to talk about?" Don asked his father. Alan sighed contentedly, his body visibly loosening as though he were melting into the chair.

" Feel like I've been on my feet all day," he said. " Of course, that's probably nothing compared to how you boys feel. Me and David? Just assuring me on a few things. You know, comfort words like 'I doubt Leon will show up here since he probably knows we're watching the place', and so on."

Don smiled. " It's probably true, you know."

Alan shrugged. " Yeah, probably. I mean you do know more about this than I ever could."

Don nodded, then glanced around. " Where's Charlie?"

" Upstairs, hopefully getting ready for bed. We have to make sure he takes one of those sleeping pills."

Don pulled his head back in alarm. " You're actually not trusting Charlie to do what he's supposed to? Dad, the guy won't even microwave soup without reading the directions first. And since when has he ever _not_ done what we've asked him to?"

Alan looked over at his older son. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said enough.

_Come on Donnie, you know it too._

And Alan was right. Charlie wasn't acting like Charlie, which meant that anything was officially possible. There was a good chance he wouldn't take the pill, fearing that if he fell asleep he wouldn't be ready should Leon come.

Don's heart sank at that. Charlie was so worn out, emotionally, physically, even mentally. During the ride home, he had heard his brother mumbling something that Don had no doubts were some kind of calculations. He caught his brother, out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes in frustration more then once. Until he sighed and slumped in his seat, shuddering. He had asked Don to turn on the heat, despite the warmth outside.

Charlie had also kept shifting, stretching, arching his back as though the seat were digging into his spine, then rubbing the back of his neck. And through it all, Charlie had worn a tight-faced expression of discomfort. When Don had asked him what was wrong, Charlie had mumbled about feeling sore everywhere.

Pale face, sunken eyes, shivering, and soreness; Charlie was sick.

Alan had noticed it sooner, because he had made soup rather then urged Charlie to eat the steak and potatoes he had made. Charlie would have just puked it up anyways.

" Don, I gotta tell you," Alan said, snapping Don from his reverie. Don looked back over at his father.

" The way you've been handling Charlie," he continued. " I'm proud of you, Don, I really am. If it hadn't been for you, I think things would have ended up a lot worse."

Don shrugged. " What, it's no big deal."

Alan leaned forward slightly on the arm of the chair. " Yes it is Don. You're the reason we know what's going on now, and you're the one who got Charlie to see a doctor. You've really been there for him, Don. More than I was, that's for sure. I've been on the brink of panic since he vanished, and had it been all up to me I probably would have driven Charlie over the edge. but you got it, Don. You knew what to do."

Don looked away from his father and shifted in discomfort. " I think Megan deserves more credit. She's the reason I knew what to do."

" But you're the one who did it. You were the one with the patience." Now it was Alan who shrugged. " Usually, you're not like that with him. Usually... You're impatient. Not all the time, mind you. But to tell you the truth I've never seen you this patient with him."

Don rubbed his face tiredly. " To tell you the truth, Dad, it kind of surprises me too." He then sighed, dropping his hand. " I think..." He squinted thoughtfully. " I think – seeing him, when he came home, the way he was acting – I think it scared me. I was worried, really worried. I still am dad. What's going on with Charlie isn't over. Leon might not even be following him, he might just be seeing him because he's still terrified. How do you deal with that, when you're brother's hallucinating because of what happened to him? I changed the situation, dad, I didn't fix the problem."

Alan folded his hands together and sat back. " Well, you can't fix everything, Don. Get this Leon guy, and maybe it'll bring Charlie some peace. But it's still up to him to let that peace come."

Don nodded, then ran both hands through his hair. He still didn't see what he did as a big deal. If anything it should have been described more as selfishness. He wanted the old Charlie back. He wanted to see the bright spark of energy in his brother's countenance, not fear and confusion.

But isn't that what Charlie wants too? Don thought. Things back to normal, to the way things were? It was something they both wanted.

It was something they had in common.

The thought made Don smile. Don's impatience with Charlie was mostly due to the fact that half the time he didn't get him. But he was getting him now, more than he ever had before. Charlie was scared and Don was scared for Charlie – common ground for both of them.

But Don would give up all the common ground in the world if it meant his brother didn't have to be afraid anymore.

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Charlie took a deep breath. In his intent on listening and his need for silence to hear, he had forgotten to breathe.

"... Get this Leon guy, and maybe it'll bring Charlie some peace..."

Alan's voice floated up the stairs, subdued by the short distance so that Charlie's own thudding heart almost made him miss it. He didn't mean to ease drop, but the moment he had heard his name he had stopped and became rooted at the top of the stairs, hidden by shadows.

Don had said it again, about how everything he was doing for Charlie was no big deal. Charlie wished he would start realizing that it wasn't. Though why it was so important Don understood this, Charlie didn't know. It just was. It mattered beyond anything Charlie could put into words.

Charlie turned and shuffled back to his room and to his desk. He dropped himself down into his chair and pulled a scrawl-littered paper toward him. His new equations were mostly hypothesis and scenarios, but they did the trick. They proved that it would be very easy for an intelligent man like Leon to formulate a pattern that would keep him off the authority radar. Plotting of police patrol rounds, the number of police seen in certain neighborhoods, times of heaviest foot traffic in the cities, and remote areas with various food sources at walking distance. Not difficult planning, really, if one were thorough and meticulous.

Charlie's neighborhood fit Leon's needs. The only authorities that came around here were Don, and whoever he happened to invite over from the office. There was a park a few blocks away that sometimes had foot patrols, but only two or three at most. There was also a neighborhood watch set up, but obviously they had yet to see Leon as a threat, or would have mentioned something about a suspicious man lurking around when Don questioned the head of the watch.

_Get this Leon guy..._

Would there be 'getting him'? If he was obsessed with perfectionism as he seemed to be, then no.

Except, however, for the fact that Leon had made a mistake. It was not a certainty, just a hunch, but the numbers agreed. Charlie had been gone for three days, and ditched on the fourth. Three days was plenty of time to scope for new hiding places. If Leon's own calculations indeed opted for that time line of three to four days, then he had flawed his own plan. Charlie had been spotting Leon for longer than three days, and always in the neighborhood.

It just added to the lack of logic that plagued Charlie about this man and his patterns. The outcome of the equations insisted that Leon should be long gone by now, and that what Charlie was seeing was only in his head.

Uncertainty was making Charlie's head spin. The human element was still the missing factor, but not Leon's human element – Charlie's. His own terror and confusion were getting in the way. Either the terror was so strong that it was making him see things, or once again he was trying to avoid what was right in front of him. None of this was going to end until Charlie proved one or the other to be the fact; either he was insane, or Leon had lost all reason and deviated from his pattern.

Don and the team could be patrolling the streets forever, searching for a phantom Charlie would not stop seeing.

Not until he was sure. But there was only one way to be sure.

Charlie stared at the paper as though it might leap up and bite him at any moment. He knew what he needed to do, and in fact had known it since leaving the warehouse.

If Leon was out there, and he still needed his hostage...

Charlie started trembling and could not stop. He had it all planned out, every detail. Mixed in with the scrawlings of Leon's example plan was Charlie's own plan, and as he looked it over for the fiftieth time, perfecting the minor details, his empty stomach churned furiously.

What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

It was foolish, stupid, dangerous. Charlie knew it, so kept hesitating. Don was going to be angry at him for this, but Charlie could see no other way around it. It really did have to be done, or it would never be over. Leon would forever be there.

Charlie stood on shaking legs. He was already dressed for bed wearing sweats and a blue T-shirt. He knew he was registering unease like a candle in a cave, but also knew that Don and Alan would pass it off as unease at having to take sleeping pills. He headed out of his room, only to pause on the stairs again. He wanted to turn back, wait a little while until his stomach calmed and his hands stopped shaking. He clasped them tightly together, then forced his stiff limbs to carry him down the stairs.

Don and their father were talking about the past and the time Charlie had done Don's math homework without permission because he needed something to do. Charlie remembered that. He had been ten, and Don had reprimanded him in front of their parents, then patted him on the back when they were out of the room. It made Charlie smile, then his eyes burned with tears.

What am I doing?

" Charlie?" he heard Don say. Charlie quickly blinked back the moisture trying to flood his vision.

" Ready for bed, Charlie?" Alan asked. Charlie stiffly nodded his head, but stayed where he was. Alan stood from his seat and headed into the kitchen to get the pills when it was obvious Charlie wasn't taking another step. Don also rose and headed over to Charlie, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Charlie gave a slight flinch but did not pull away.

" You really need this Charlie," Don said. " And it'll be all right. We've got the house secured."

Not secured enough, Charlie thought guiltily. Charlie had listened in and watched as Don mapped out what they needed to do to keep the house sufficiently watched. It involved periodic rounds, shifts – patterns. Through the patterns, Charlie had mapped out his plan.

It was the first step of this plan that was making Charlie nauseous.

Charlie saw Don's bag by the couch.

" I-I need to sit down," he said, his voice harsh with raw nerves. He shuffled to the couch and sat down right by the bag. Don sat on the other side.

The bag was open. Inside were spare clothes... and Don's extra gun.

Charlie's stomach roiled even more fiercely, and his trembling increased. He felt Don's hand lightly touch his back.

" You okay buddy?"

Bile rose burning into Charlie's throat and he swallowed it back. He shrank with the weight of terrible guilt, and shook his head.

" I-I feel sick..."

Don abruptly stood and turned. " Hey dad, I think we need a bowl in here."

I'm using feeling ill against them, Charlie thought in self-disgust. Then, while Don had his back turned, Charlie doubled over, his hand striking out to snatch the gun. He slipped it under his shirt, tucking it in his pants at the hip so it could be obscured by his arm.

Alan hurried into the living room with a metal bowl, and got it under Charlie just in time. Very little came up, just a thin stream of cloudy liquid. Charlie dry-heaved, coughed fitfully, and grimaced with the pain it caused. He sucked in a ragged breath and closed his watering eyes. He felt exhausted enough to collapse, but too wired to stay down should it happen.

" Sure he'll be able to keep a pill down?" Don asked.

Alan sighed. " Let's hope so."

Alan set the bowl on the coffee table, then went back into the kitchen. He brought out a glass of water and one of the pills, handing both to Charlie. Charlie took the pill and popped it in his mouth, but hid the bitter thing under his tongue. He swallowed a few sips of water, wiped his mouth, and nodded.

Alan nodded in return. " Good, now go to bed before that thing kicks in."

Charlie rose onto unsteady legs and shuffled quickly to the stairs. He hurried up, and once at the top, hidden by the shadows, he spit the pill into his hand and paused, staring at it. Tears fogged his vision, and no matter how hard he swallowed, the tightness in his throat refused to loosen.

What am I doing?

Charlie hurried into the bathroom, tossing the pill into the wastebasket, then slipped quietly into his room.

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A/N: To be Continued! Am I evil or what?

Just what is Charlie up too? Do you think you know? You must wait to find out. Mwhahahahahahahaha!


	14. Leon

A/N: I'm not certain of the structural dynamics of the Eppes' backyard, so I'm just going to guess a lot.

Ch. 14

Leon

What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing...?

Charlie sat stiff-spine with terror as he stared at the weapon resting in his unsteady hands. He held it as though he were holding a tarantula, and that the slightest movement would set it off.

He had no time for this, but neither could he move.

What am I doing, What am I doing...?

Hot tears stung his eyes, then burned down his face. If his heart beat any louder he wouldn't be the only one to hear it.

Charlie's familiarity with guns was not as limited as Don might have suspected. His experience did not stem from firing that rifle on the range, but from watching Don handle his own gun. Curiosity was a practical disease for Charlie, and he had always found himself watching in nervous fascination as Don cleaned and assembled his weapons. Don never did it at the house, of course. Alan hated seeing Don bring his guns into the house (with recent events being the exception). Don always did his cleaning at his own apartment, and Charlie got to witness it whenever Don invited him over for lunch, a movie, or to talk about a case. He would do it at a distance, with Charlie in his living room and Don in his kitchen, ensuring the gun was pointed away from his brother at all times despite the fact that it wasn't loaded.

Charlie never protested. In fact, he always insisted Don go ahead, because Charlie liked to time how fast Don did the work. His older brother was fast – not with the cleaning since caution was a must – but about assembling the gun back together. It took only seconds for the weapon to be deadly again, and for Charlie to wake up and recall his dislike for guns. It was always easy to forget when the gun was in pieces, harmless and no longer looking like a gun.

When something caught Charlie's interest, it became burned forever in his brain. So, looking back to the many times Don had cleaned his weapon, Charlie was able to remove the clip from the gun, as well as the extra bullet in the chamber. He did it slowly, barely breathing, and ensuring the gun was pointed toward the wall and not himself. Once the gun was empty of the deadly metal projectiles, he set the clip and bullet on his desk, right over his plan. He then slipped the gun into his pants along the hip to hide it. Sitting as he was, hunched up in fear, the grip dug into his floating rib painfully.

What am I doing, What am I doing, What am I doing...?

_Now or never, Chuck._

The cold metal of the gun against his skin created a numbing effect that spread through his entire body, filling his mind with a haze of surreality. He stood, and everything became like a dream to him, which seemed fitting. Hadn't he wanted it all to be a dream? Only the feel of the gun at his side, and his ceaseless shivering, kept a part of him in reality to do what he needed to do. He slipped his bare feet into his tennis shoes, not bothering to tie them. He then pulled on his hooded sweater, but did not zip it up. No time.

This is stupid! What am I doing!

Not stopping, that was what he was doing. He found he couldn't stop. Like a wind-up toy, all he could do was hope that eventually he would wind down – either from exhaustion or terror – and wake up from himself.

_Gotta be done, Chuck, or You'll never know. Want to be a wuss forever?_

Charlie moved to his door and pressed himself against it, listening intently to the muffled voices that droned down the hall from downstairs. Obscuring the haphazard drone was his own heart pounding through his bone and flesh like a fist on the door. He waited as minutes became hours, ticking by soundlessly but with a heavy presence at the back of his mind.

_Tick, tick, tick, Chuck._

Then he heard it; the creak of the stairs, the moan of the floorboards in the hallway. Charlie pushed himself away from the door and dove into his bed, throwing his covers over him. His light was already out.

He could sense, more than hear, his door open, and grit his teeth when the gun's digging into his side stung with each breath. He held his breath, and for a moment his body stilled, but the wait was an eternity and he could not suppress his shivering for much longer. Finally, his door swished closed, and the creak of protesting floorboards receded as his father made his way to his own room. Charlie opened his eyes, flinging back the covers and heading back to the door. He pressed his ear against it but heard nothing.

Don and David were outside, in the front yard doing another sweep. Charlie only had minutes, maybe even less depending on how thorough they chose to be. Carefully, Charlie opened his door. Even more carefully, he stepped from his room. He knew his house, knew every creak and moan of it, and so knew where to step and how lightly to tread so as not to produce any sounds.

His methodical movements were maddening, and the urge to run before Don and David came in was tearing at his nerves. He took the steps two at a time, keeping to the rail where the noise was more subdued. But once he reached the bottom floor, he took off at a half-run to the garage, still managing absolute silence. He slipped through the door, then down the stairs. He turned, and darted through the second door into the backyard, all the way to the shadow-drenched Koi pond. Once behind the tree, he crouched, shaking and panting, his heart ready to burst.

What am I doing? His mind whimpered, and he cringed. Alan was going to be furious with him, Don even more so, and between the two Don was the scariest when angry.

_Gotta know, Chuck. Gotta know. It'll never be over otherwise if you don't. You want it to keep going?_

Charlie moved along the fence within the shadows, heading to the gate at the front end. He huddled in the corner, listening to the scrape of gravel and the crunch of wet grass.

Please don't come in here, please don't come in here, please don't come in here...

Charlie heard the squeak of a shoe in the grass, then jumped when the gate rattled, his heart trying to crawl into his throat. It stopped, and whoever it had been moved away.

Charlie still waited, watching the house, listening for the opening and shutting of a door. The sound eventually came, and Charlie sucked in a breath he had not realized he had been holding. He straightened slightly, reaching up and pulling back the metal lock of the gate. He opened it one slow inch at a time, just enough for his slender body to slip through. Any wider and the gate would groan loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Neither he nor Alan had ever oiled it, since it was Charlie's responsibility now and Charlie never remembered.

Once out, Charlie shut the gate and placed a rock in front of it so it wouldn't open again. It was too high for him to reach over and re lock, but then that was the point.

Once that was done, Charlie slipped behind a copse of shrubs and stayed crouch for several breathless minutes. Don and David would be in the back yard by now. So Charlie slipped back out, straightening, and took to the sidewalk at a run. He didn't care if anyone saw him. In fact, he wanted to be seen. Let the neighbors call the police, call Don, send help. But Charlie needed a head start first – a little time to make sure.

His direction was for the park several blocks away. Yes, it had been checked and rechecked, but if Leon were deviating from his original plan, then he would be there. It was the only area affording suitable hiding places, especially at night. Authorities could search during the day all they wanted, but Leon would know better than to be around. He was mentally ill, not stupid.

Charlie was going at his fastest run, which was not fast enough thanks to his present condition. His lungs were quick to start burning, which in turned set off a stabbing pain in his still cracked ribs. He stumbled, tripped, landing on his knee that sent pain shooting up his leg, causing him to gasp. He tried to stand, but fell again, gasping in rasping breaths and shaking now with fatigue more than fear. He gave himself a moment, swallowing against the rawness stinging his throat, then coughing fitfully. Finally, Terror and adrenaline gave him his second wind, and he pushed himself carefully onto his feet, stumbling and limping down the sidewalk.

He heard the distant hum of a car coming closer, so he darted into the thick shadows between a house and its fence. The huge, black SUV rolled by, and Charlie waited until he saw it turn another corner. Once out of sight, he went back to the sidewalk.

That might have been some of McAllister's people, but Charlie wasn't sure.

Any other day, his walk to the park would have seemed mere minutes. But time was still messing with his head, and the darkness was toying with his nerves. He saw movement everywhere; in the shadows, under trees, between warped fence slats. A small, dark shape whipped across a well-kept yard, and Charlie startled, stumbling back and nearly falling. The shape darted halfway up a tree, and turned eyes that flashed like lightning toward him.

In the dim light from someone's porch, Charlie could make out the form of a cat. The cat twitched its head about, then clamored down the tree and sauntered off as though satisfied by the fear it had caused its terrified observer. Charlie wanted to laugh, but the breath hitched in his throat, coming out more like a half-sob.

The need to turn back was tearing Charlie in two, but the fact that he was almost there kept him going. Soon he could see the park bathed in patches of yellow streetlights and darkness. He could see the empty baseball field bordered by bleachers and a chain-link fence, and the playground like a small city of slides, monkey-bars, jungle gyms, and swings. There were trees scattered everywhere, some clumped together like pieces of left-over forest. Charlie eyes went to these small woods, darting from one to the other, seeing movement that probably wasn't really there. The closer he came to the park, the slower his walking became. An unseen force was pulling at his back, and a disembodied voice was screaming at him to stop.

Momentum must have been keeping him going, because he wanted desperately to stop and turn. Even more, he wanted to wake up and see all this as the real dream.

Why am I here? Don's going to kill me. What have I done? I'm so stupid, stupid! Why won't I stop!

_Because you want to know. Need to know. Have to know. It's the only way for anything to stop. _

Charlie's throat constricted, his chest tightened. He cringed as he stepped off of the sidewalk and onto the cool grass of the park. Terror squeezed all reason from his addled and exhausted brain. He could no longer think. All warnings, pleas, and reasons became jumbled into incoherent mumblings in his head, and all he could do was to sob, tremble, and keep going. He cut across the grass, through the playground, and toward the trees as tears raced down his cheeks, slowing when they reached his jaw and crawled down his neck. Shadows moved, and every sound resounded, even the snap of a twig and the creak of a branch.

He wasn't within one of the little forests, but he was surrounded by scattered trees where the ground was painted in shapeless flecks of light and dark. A soft wind made the leaves whisper, and fallen leaves scrape the dirt pathway. It made his heart jump painfully, and his breath come in quick, uncontrollable pants. He was panicking.

Charlie stopped. He couldn't go on any further. He couldn't even move. He stood, and took in his surroundings, feeling small and lost like a child. He wanted to puke but had nothing left in him to throw up.

And Leon had yet to come.

Charlie sank to his knees.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I'm so stupid, why? Why did I do this? Why...?

He felt the gun, felt it bruising him like the harmful hunk of metal that it was. He was tempted to take it and throw it, but it was Don's gun, and he needed to give it back. Just as soon as he could move, and stop crying... and think.

" Don," he said in a small, cracked voice. " I'm sorry."

Something crunched and scraped, slow and rhythmic; footfalls.

Charlie snapped his head up, eyes wide and hope swelling in his chest. " Don?"

He saw a form wrapped in shadows, a silhouette in the distant lights of the baseball field. The figure stopped when Charlie looked up. The figure reached into a pocket, and pulled something out. With a click, a light flared on right in Charlie's eyes, momentarily blinding him.

Then the person started laughing, louder and faster, slapping his thigh mirthfully. Then the laughter died abruptly. " You've got to be kidding me."

Charlie's heart slammed, and his body froze. The figure took three more steps forward, then crouched. Charlie blinked rapidly against the light, and shrank back. The figure shook his head.

" Stupid, Chuck, real stupid." Leon rose to his feet, towering over Charlie. " You said you were a genius kid. so what the hell are you doing here!" He snarled, and advanced.

Charlie snapped from his terror hold. He fell back, trying to get to his feet, the gun bruising his hip.

The gun.

Scrambling back, Charlie grabbed the gun from under his shirt, and pointed it at Leon. Leon stopped, raising both his hands, and Charlie scrabbled back onto his feet.

" Well," Leon spat bitterly, " look who grew a spine."

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Don was tired, but it was easy enough to alleviate as long as he kept moving. Megan and another agent would be arriving soon to take over for him and David, hopefully within the minute before the couch beckoned for him to lay down and 'rest his eyes' for a moment. He was standing before it even now, but staring at the clock. Ten thirty. By Don's standards, that wasn't even late. Yet the way his body was acting it might as well have been one in the morning.

He normally only felt this way when something was getting to him; a case, family. In this instance, both. Stress was making him old before his time.

David came out of the kitchen with a half-full glass of water in one hand. Nothing about the younger man betrayed even the remotest sign that he was tired, and Don felt a small pang of jealously at that, which made him grin.

He may be younger, but I'm still his boss, he thought rather vindictively, but still in good humor.

" You really think this guy'll show his face with us crawling around?" David asked.

Don, unable to stand it any longer, dropped onto the couch and rubbed his face with both hands, finishing off the brief massage by pulling his hands through his hair. " No." He then dropped his hands into his lap. " But, then again, what do I know. You'd have to ask Megan."

David took the easy chair, taking a sip from the glass. " How's Charlie?" he asked when he finished.

" Hopefully passed out." Don then sighed heavily. " I really have no idea how long we should do this."

" What do you mean?" David asked.

" Waiting for Leon to pop up. If the guy's as smart as Agent Hanson says, then he's not just gonna appear out of nowhere, demanding Charlie." Don shrugged. " However - not being the profiler in the department – I can't really say what Leon may or may not do. I can't even say if he's really here, or if Charlie's just seeing him."

David let out a breath, shaking his head. " Poor guy."

" I think 'poor guy' is an understatement. The only time I'd ever seen him suffer this bad was when our mom died, but even then it'd been different. Charlie's getting sick. But hey, big surprise, right? Kind of hard not to get sick when you're that stressed out."

David nodded assent. " Well, this might just be my optimistic side talking, but I think we'll catch this guy. I may not know Charlie like you do, but he's never struck me as the type to give into mind tricks. His mind just seems a little too busy as it is to be seeing things."

Don smiled at that. " True. I don't think he's seeing things either." Then Don let his smile fade. " So what does this guy want with Charlie?"

David shrugged. " Wrong guy to ask. I will say this though. Once we catch him, try not to beat the answers outta him. Or at least not in public."

Don smiled and chuckled at that. Outside, he heard the low rumble of a car pulling into a driveway. " All right, the calvary," he said tiredly. He bent forward and began rummaging through his bag. Then paused.

David, awake and acute, picked up on Don's sudden rigid pause like a lion picks up on blood.

" What?" he asked warily.

Don began frantically pulling clothes from his bag, tossing them onto the couch and floor. " My backup piece. I had it in by bag."

David set his glass on the side table and stood. He reached for his own gun. " Taken?"

Don shook his head, then stood. " I don't know." He headed for the stairs, taking them fast, and making a B-line for Charlie's room.

How could Leon get into the house without us seeing? We checked everywhere, the doors were locked, windows too...

Then he opened the door to Charlie's room.

The bed was empty. His little brother was gone. Don moved his gaze to the window, but spotted something on the desk. He entered the room and went straight for the items he saw lying there in plain sight, the equivalent of a note that said more than words ever could.

There was the clip and a single bullet. Below that, a paper cluttered with equations and words.

Movement, places to hide, food sources...

A question; Would Leon run?

Another; Why is he doing this?

Another; What can I do?

Don could hear his brother's desperation and confusion in the written words, and his heart plummeted like a rock.

" Oh, Charlie, no... no. What are you doing?"

He picked up the clip and paper, staring at them as though they had betrayed him, betrayed Charlie. Charlie could not help listening to the numbers. They told him everything he did not know, and did not understand. They were supposed to be his friends.

Don pocketed the clip, then turned to David. " Go meet Megan at the door. Tell her Charlie's missing and we're going to find him. I need to wake my dad."

David nodded once and hurried out. Don turned, briefly, to look back at the equation. But he had no time to think or feel. Charlie needed him. So he hurried out, veering to his father's room.

_Charlie, what are you doing?_

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A/N: Will Don make it in time? Will Charlie survive? No! Charlie dies! Mwuahahahahahahaha! Okay, I'm just kidding, please don't maim me. (It was my sister's idea to say that, honest!) Or am I kidding? Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this chapter was just screaming for one. Nearing the end though, so hold on tight!


	15. Why

A/N: Please remember, Leon has other problems besides Bipolar. So if Leon doesn't seem like someone with the disorder, that's why.

Ch. 15

Why

Charlie's hand refused to stop shaking. The gun, though empty of its clip, was growing progressively heavier. He felt sickened by what he was doing, what he was holding and pointing at another human being. He had to remind himself, over and over, that the gun was empty and incapable of doing any harm.

Leon was pacing like a caged tiger, his head turned to look at Charlie, glaring at him. When he spoke, he would shine the light at his own face as though it was a microphone. Leon's jaw was partially hidden by thick stubble a centimeter away from being a full beard. The shoulder of his coat was darkened by dirt, and his once shaved hair was starting to grow out some. Besides looking rugged, Leon appeared relatively healthy, which Charlie knew he could not say the same for himself.

" You look like hell, kid," Leon said. He flashed the light back toward Charlie, and Charlie winced at the pain it caused his retina. But he did not look away. It would be very easy for Leon to blind him then overtake him, and with the gun being empty there wasn't much he would be able to do about it.

Leon pointed the light back at himself. " Gotten kind of skinny there. You feeling all right?"

Leon's voice was all casual conversation, but the hard, angered look on his face sent a wave of cold fear through Charlie's body.

Leon stopped pacing and lowered his light back at Charlie. " What are you doing here, kid?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

Charlie took a nervous step back. His brain was refusing to function, and his tongue was being just as rebellious. He forced what words he could from his mind, and blurted them out.

" I'm sorry!"

Leon's brow furrowed, and he took a menacing step forward. Charlie took another back.

" Sorry? You're sorry? What the hell for? What did you do?"

Charlie swallowed. " I – the – the equation. You were right. It was fine the way it was. You were right."

" You think!" Leon barked. Charlie flinched, cringing, but kept the gun raised.

Leon was breathing hard and resumed his pacing, his gaze fixed point-blank on Charlie. He shook his head.

" Man, You're just like them, you know that? Tom, Rick, Shawn... They were never freakin' satisfied..."

Charlie assumed Leon was talking about his bank-heist buddies.

" Crap, man, you'd think they'd gotten bored with the way we were doing things. But hey, it worked, didn't it? So what the hell was their problem? I'll tell you what their problem was. They got greedy, they got impatient. They wanted it to happen now, always now, now, now, never fast enough. Come on, Leon, come up with something already. Then; Hey, let's just bust in and take what we can by gun point... Freakin' _morons_!"

Charlie flinched again. Leon turned away to glare viciously at the ground as he paced faster. " It was working! They saw that! It was perfect! Then they had to try and screw it up! They got what they _deserved_! All of them!"

He turned abruptly and pointed at Charlie. " You, I saved you from that. I did, right? You didn't end up stupid like them?"

Charlie swallowed. " The equation worked."

Leon began laughing. " You see, Chuck ol' pal? Me 'an you, kindreds. We're a lot alike..."

" Shut up!" Charlie screamed, and quelled when he did. Leon froze, lowering his flashlight so that Charlie could not see his face.

" What?" the disbelief in Leon's voice was thick. Charlie took another timid step back, clutching the gun so tight it bit into his hand.

" Y-You need to leave," Charlie said. " You need to go."

Leon took another step. " Charlie," he said coldly, " I told you... I need you as my..."

" No, Leon, you don't. You – you made a mistake..."

" What!"

" You're plan. You had a plan that helped keep you safe and hidden. Didn't you? Because, if you did, then you messed it up. You stayed here too long. You waited for too long. By brother, he's FBI. He talked to the people who are after you, and they're looking for you. But you can still make it. You can save you're plan if you go now and don't come back. So -so maybe you should just leave, Leon. I'll let you. Just go."

Leon was silent for a long moment, and the silence felt heavy enough to smother. Charlie swallowed, forcing his body not to move another step.

The flashlight was pointed at the ground, so Charlie could not see anything of Leon. The man was statue still.

Charlie couldn't take it any more. It didn't matter if Leon was shocked or angry - any reaction would have been better than this eternal silence and waiting for the bad Charlie knew was inevitable.

" Why are you still here, Leon? I said you could go. Just leave me alone, that's all I want. You don't need me because you have you're plan. It can still work."

Then, Charlie saw Leon's head move, shaking no.

" I – can't..."

" Why!" Charlie cried. " Why won't you just go?"

" I don't know, _Chuck_. Maybe 'cause I don't want to. Maybe it's all part of my plan. Ever think of that?"

Charlie wrinkled his own brow in thought. This wasn't working. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Charlie was supposed to know more of what was going on, not less. Leon would only be killed if he used Charlie as a hostage. The Feds would increase their effort in searching for him, especially if he tried to drag Charlie along for the ride. It would only make things worse.

Unless, Charlie realized suddenly, it was what Leon wanted.

_Bipolar disorder: Emotional highs and lows - depression._

Leon wanted to be caught. Maybe, even, to die.

So why not advance on Charlie and force him to shoot?

" D-Do you want to get caught?" Charlie said, making it sound more like a warning than a question. Leon began to pace again, fast and brimming with agitation. Apparently, Charlie had struck a nerve.

Perhaps, then, Leon was weary, just like Charlie. He wanted it to stop just like Charlie. What was going on in Charlie's head was nothing compared to what raged through Leon's brain. Tidal waves of emotions that kept dragging him under, rising and falling with no warning, smothering much of his own will power. Charlie knew this, and gradually a small part of him felt bad for Leon.

Leon ran a stiff hand through his hair, and began mumbling as though arguing with himself.

" Just go," Charlie begged. Leon whirled around.

" I can't!"

" Then leave me alone!"

Leon snorted out a laugh. " Or what, you'll shoot me? Kid, you're a coward, you don't have the guts."

" You don't need guts," Charlie spat back, anger mixing with the terror. " I'm scared, Leon. I know you can see that. I could twitch, then jerk, and pull the trigger on accident. You know that."

Leon threw up his hands. " Fine, you're dangerous, good for you..."

" Do you want to get caught?"

Leon froze again. Of course he wouldn't admit to it, Charlie realized. Pride wouldn't let him. The truth of it would make _him_ seem the coward. But Charlie knew it had nothing to do with cowardice. Leon was weary – of running, hiding, planning, forever looking over his shoulder, and feeling too much at one time. He was a sick man, he knew it, and he wanted it to stop.

" It's all right, Leon," Charlie said, his sympathy for the man increasing a notch. " You don't have to keep running. You'd know they would only put you in a mental facility, not a prison. You might even be released one day..."

Leon shook his head. " No. No, they won't release me Chuck. You know why? Because I'm a killer. I don't care. I hurt people..."

" But I don't think you mean to," Charlie countered. " You let me go."

" Do not!" Leon screamed. " Tell me how my mind works! You don't know me!"

" I'm starting to," Charlie said in a small voice so that not even Leon could hear. The man began pacing again, ranting out his fury, screaming at the top of his lungs and not caring if anyone heard.

Leon turned again, facing Charlie. " I liked you, you little SOB. I really did. Crap, why did you have to come out here!"

" Because you wouldn't leave me alone."

" You little... Son of a...!"

Charlie knew that Leon wanted call him a coward. But he couldn't, because Charlie, in all truth, was the one in charge. He held the gun, and was the threat. All Leon's uncontrollable fury could not change that fact.

" If you won't leave," Charlie said. " T-Then I'll take you in."

" No!" Leon shouted. " No! You will not!" But neither did Leon run.

Every shout was making Charlie's heart slam hard, and his mind spin dizzily with uncertainty and fear. He couldn't take much more of this. He needed Don here to take over and do what Charlie did not know how to do. Leon wasn't going anywhere, and Charlie wasn't sure how to get him moving.

Suddenly, Leon whirled around, stalking right up to Charlie until the gun was pressed into his chest. He had moved so fast Charlie did not have time to register it, so had not moved himself. They were face to face now, the taller man glaring down at the smaller. Charlie shrank, but did not lower the gun.

" Shoot me," Leon hissed. Charlie's brain screamed for his legs to move, but could only manage them a step back. Leon moved with him.

" Shoot me!" Leon yelled, startling Charlie.

" N-no," Charlie whimpered.

" You little freakin' coward. Shoot me!"

" No! I can't... I won't..."

Leon began breathing through clenched teeth, foam and saliva flecking his lips. " Then I'll kill you."

Charlie began panting, unable to catch his breath. He sucked in a ragged one, and forced his next words from his constricted throat.

" I-I can't..."

Leon reached out slowly and took a fistful of Charlie's shirt, his knuckles digging painfully into the young man's sternum. But that was all he did. Charlie kept the gun trained on Leon, and Leon kept hold of Charlie, waiting.

He wants to die, Charlie thought nauseously.

_Yeah, Chuck, he does. _

" I won't do it," Charlie croaked weakly. " It's not right."

Leon's grip tightened. He raised his flashlight like a club.

" Please..." he snarled.

Another light flashed across Charlie's vision, dancing behind Leon like an over-sized firefly.

" Freeze!"

Leon dropped his arm, snapping his head around while keeping a firm grip on Charlie's shirt. Charlie glanced past Leon's shoulder, but could see nothing because of the light.

" Drop him!" The voice shouted, a voice Charlie knew too well; Don.

Don was advancing toward Leon, moving deliberately. Charlie could see other shadowy forms behind him, and the flash of light off guns.

Leon looked back at Charlie, and this close Charlie could see him without the use of a flashlight. The man wore no expression; no anger, no defeat, not even sadness. He was a blank slate, momentarily devoid of all emotions.

Don came up behind him, grabbing Leon by the arm. Leon reacted, releasing Charlie and spinning around, trying to tear his arm from Don's grasp. The other two agents hurried forward as one, tackling a struggling Leon to the ground. Instead of cuffs, they placed plastic bands around his wrists to reduce injury as he fought. He screamed, spitting curses at the two agents, but allowed himself to be hauled onto his feet. Charlie watched, numb and dazed, as Leon was dragged off. The man's head turned, and even in the darkness their gazes met.

" Thanks, _Chuck_!" He snapped, but Charlie could not tell if it was sarcasm, or a strange form of thanks hidden behind bitterness. Charlie watched him go, and did not look away even when he was out of sight.

" Charlie?"

Charlie turned his head slightly to the right. His brain felt lost in a thick mire, and it took a while for familiarity to register.

" Don?"

Charlie took a step toward his brother, his cold hand loosening its grip on the gun until it dropped to the ground with a thud. His legs gave out, and he felt himself falling, only to be caught by strong arms. Charlie then began to sob.

33333333333333

Don rushed forward in time to catch his brother as he faltered and began to fall. He had the younger man beneath the arms, then slowly lowered himself and Charlie onto their knees. He then leaned his brother against his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around the skinny, shaking body, holding tightly as though letting go would mean losing Charlie again.

Charlie was sobbing, hard, clutching the sleeves of Don's jacket as though he were also hanging on. And he probably was. The energy was gone from his little brother, and he had nothing left. His body was slumped, his backbone digging into Don's arm as he held him to keep him upright. Don could hear muffled words and tilted his head slightly to hear.

" I'm sorry, Don, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Don patted his brother's back with one hand. " It's okay, buddy, it's all right. It's over."

Don noticed the gun discarded on the ground, missing its clip. All his anger, disbelief, and fear were forgotten, drained from him the moment he had caught his weak and frightened brother in his arms. All that was left was relief, sweet and all consuming, as he held his brother and knew with a surety that he was not hurt. And even when that relief would finally pass, he knew the anger would not return. It did not matter why Charlie had done what he had done. The fact was it was over, and all reason be shot.

He just wanted his brother to be all right.

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A/N: Not quite over yet. One more chapter to go. Also, this was a bit of a tricky chapter to write. Lots of emotion. So if it's still a bit confusing, I apologize. And I have to confess, I had no idea how things were going to turn out. Personally, I'm rather happy with it.


	16. Epilogue

Ch. 16

Epilogue

" Kind of hard to keep your mind on the job," Megan said, " when it wants to be other places."

They were standing outside the interrogation room, watching McAllister pace in front a stoic, blank-faced Leon. The man was back on his meds, and at the moment seemed harmless as a kitten and somber as a statue. He had his hands folded on the table top, and was staring at them with a distant gaze.

Don knew that look. Leon was turned inward, thinking deep and private thoughts. Amazing he could do it with McAllister pacing like an annoyed wolf, barking out questions.

Occasionally, Leon would open his mouth and utter a single reply – sometimes yes, sometimes no. He was being as cooperative as a subdued little kid.

No, that didn't fit, Don thought. More like someone who just didn't care anymore.

And in all truth, Don really didn't care much himself. The case wasn't his anymore, and he didn't mind. Leon was in custody, and that was good enough for him. Now all he had left to worry about was Charlie.

" You know what surprises me?" Megan said next.

" Yeah?"

" Why you haven't ask the obvious question."

" Which is?"

" What Charlie was thinking when he went after Leon. I honestly thought you would be hounding me with that one by now."

Don squinted slightly, thoughtfully, then shrugged indifferently. He had had that question on his mind, but some time between finding Charlie, taking Leon in, going back to Charlie's place only to find his little brother passed out in bed, then nodding off on the couch - he had just plain forgotten about it. In the whole scheme of things, his questions of 'why' had lost all relevancy. All that mattered was whether his brother would be all right.

McAllister had finished his interrogation, and he and another agent began escorting Leon from the room. On walking out, Leon's head turned, his heavy-lidded gaze landing directly on Don. He jerked, indicating to the agents that he wanted to stop.

" You're Chuck's brother, right?" he asked.

Don, uncertain if replying to this man was a good idea, nodded anyways.

Leon nodded in return. " Tell him he was right."

Don felt his spine prickle as his protective instincts went on alert. He eyed Leon warily. " Why? About what?"

" Everything. Just tell him. He'll know what I mean. Oh, and that I'm sorry."

" Come on," the other agent growled, pulling on Leon's restrained arm. Leon turned away to stare at the floor and let himself be taken.

" See," Megan said. " Remorse. Even if it didn't sound all that sincere."

Don nodded. Remorse or not, mentally ill or not, Don still wanted to deck the man for the crap he had put Charlie through.

But Leon had apologized, even if it had sounded flat. Not even a mentally stable criminal would have done that much.

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It was another warm, gold-tinted afternoon when Don arrived at Charlie's house. Which meant it would be a perfect night for sitting out doors, should Charlie be up to it.

Don hoped Charlie was up to it. He hadn't talked to him in what felt like an eternity, though it had only been yesterday when he had aided his dad in getting Charlie to take the pill he obviously never swallowed.

As soon as he entered the living room, Don banished all thoughts of a quiet sit in the back yard. Charlie was curled up on the couch, buried under a mound of blankets pulled all the way up to his head. The face that was supposed to be placid with sleep was white and grimacing with discomfort.

" He didn't want to stay in his room," Alan said when he emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of soup and a glass of water on a tray. He set it down on the coffee table. " Said something about not wanting to be alone."

Don gestured to the soup – vegetable by the smell and look. " Is he eating?"

Alan shrugged. " He was barely awake for most of the day and he has a slight fever. But hey, no harm in trying to get something in his stomach. I have back-up ready, just in case."

He indicated the plastic wastebasket by the couch with a twitch of his head. Alan then wiped his hands on his sweater and headed back toward the kitchen.

" Want anything?" he asked Don. " There's still some soup, and I've got some fried chicken warming in the oven. Some potatoes and gravy on the side?"

Don smiled though his eyes never left Charlie. " Sounds great."

Alan vanished into the kitchen. Don went to sit in the easy chair. Steam from the soup coiled upward in lazy – almost hypnotic – tendrils. The soup smelled great, and Don was tempted to have a few bites before Charlie woke up. Chicken, however, sounded much better, and he could wait a little while longer.

A low whimper drew Don's attention back to Charlie. His brother was grimacing again, and shivering, trying to curl into himself. Don moved from the chair to kneel by the couch. He gently placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed.

" Charlie? Hey, Charlie, wake up. Come on buddy, you're dreaming."

Charlie sucked in a gasping breath as though about to sob, then opened his eyes. He blinked several times, taking in several more deep breaths. Don could feel Charlie's tension, even through the blankets, and also felt when it finally eased away. Charlie let out a sigh, then burrowed himself deeper into the blankets.

" You hungry, Charlie?" Don asked when he saw Charlie's eyes slipping closed. They snapped open, and Charlie lifted his head some off the pillow. He looked at the food with a tired but contemplative expression.

" Come on, Charlie," Don urged. " You've gotta eat. Sit up, I'll help."

As Charlie struggled to sit up, Don took him by the arm and gradually helped him ease into a sitting position. Charlie was in sweats and a T-shirt that read " I'm not Illiterate, I know who my parents are!" Don chuckled at seeing it. He'd given it to Charlie for Christmas as a sort of gag present. He'd never thought Charlie would ever actually wear it.

Charlie blinked groggily, pushing a shaking hand through his mop of hair tangling in his face, pushing it back. Don lifted the tray and set it in Charlie's lap, holding it in case Charlie needed an emergency lean toward the wastebasket.

Instead of eating, Charlie just stared at the soup. The forlorn expression on his pale faced made Don's worry rise a few degrees.

" Charlie, What's wrong?"

Charlie opened his mouth. " A-are you mad at me?" he said in a small, unsteady voice. He then swallowed, and turned his head to look at Don.

Man he looks scared, Don thought. It made his heart break, the way Charlie was looking at him, both nervous and ashamed.

" You know," he continued, swallowing again. " Because, I – um..." He let out a single, weak laugh. " Acted so stupid."

Don couldn't help a small laugh himself. " Yeah, what you did ranks high on the scale of dumb stunts. But hey, we all have our stupid moments. No, Charlie, I'm not mad at you. Maybe for a few minutes when I found you gone, but mostly I was just panicking. It's one thing when you're gone, and another when you're gone and one of my own guns is missing, then I find the clip in your room. I was scared, Charlie. But it's over now, no one got hurt, and that's all that really matters, right?"

Charlie looked back at his soup, then nodded.

Don patted him on the shoulder. " Right. So, rest assured, I'm not even remotely irritated with you. Now eat up, get a little meat back on your ribs. Dad's sick of seeing 'em through your clothes."

Charlie took the spoon and began swirling the soup. " I lost weight, doesn't mean I'm emaciated." Charlie then lifted the spoon, blowing on the soup, then stuck it in his mouth. He lowered the spoon, then waited before taking the next bite.

Don picked up the wastebasket. " Need it yet?"

Charlie was silent for a moment as he pondered, then shook his head. " Few more bites, then we'll see." So he took a few more, then more, and nothing happened.

" Dad cooking chicken?" he asked, pausing to sip some water.

" Yeah, why? Smells good enough to eat?"

Charlie grimaced slightly. " Not yet. I'll stick with the soup for now."

Don grinned, and rubbed his brother's back good-naturedly.

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Three Weeks Later

No one overcame anything in a day, Charlie especially. But peace does come to those who seek it. Despite Megan's rock-hard insistence that she was not a psychiatrist, she acted the part for Charlie whenever he needed to talk. It was preferable for him than trying to open up to some stranger. That alone would have taken months.

Charlie still wouldn't bike-ride to school, not yet at any rate. Perhaps in a few months, but it had only been three weeks since Leon's arrest.

As Don negotiated the halls of Calsci, making his way toward Charlie's office, he reflected on these things and other matters. Life was starting to feel normal again. He and Charlie had finally gotten what they both had so desperately wanted – normalcy.

The thing was, life's tragedies and unforeseen events had a way of ensuring that nothing ever went back to the way it was. It had been that way when their mother had died. But the changes of that time were out in the open; Don's moving back to L.A., his separation with Kim, and the closer relationship with his brother.

The changes of recent events were not so blatant. One had to look for them, or be aware enough to begin with to notice them. They couldn't be described or explained in words. They could only be witnessed over a small amount of time, and felt like an unseen presence.

Things were not as they had once been.

The door to Charlie's office was open, but then again when was it ever closed? Charlie liked people to always feel welcome.

Don stopped in the doorway and folded his arms. Charlie and Amita were sitting at the table, their heads closed together as they poured over and discussed some paper. Charlie was talking animatedly, pointing to something on the paper. Amita nodded in understanding, then scribbled something onto a notepad.

Don smiled, but not in amusement. He was hesitant to disturb this moment, watching Charlie be Charlie. Charlie's eyes were bright and alive with his usual spark of energy, and Don found he couldn't get enough of seeing it. In that brief moment, it was as though the man named Leon had never existed, and Charlie's nightmare had been only a dream after all.

But that's why they called them 'moments'. Don finally knocked on the door frame. Both Charlie's and Amita's head popped up at the same time, reminding Don of gophers peeking out of their hole.

" Hey Don," Charlie said, seeming a little surprised. Then he glanced at his watch and his eyes widened. " Oh, time to go, right."

Amita turned away to hide her grin. Charlie stood and began gathering his books, shoving them into his bag.

" Did that explanation help any?" Charlie asked Amita. Amita, also rising and gathering her papers, tapping them into a neat stack, nodded.

" Yeah, thanks Charlie." She stuck the papers in her folder, then headed toward the door. " See you tomorrow Charlie. Bye Don."

Don stepped out of the way, letting her pass. " Later," he said.

When Charlie had finally managed to cram his books into his bag, he slung the pack over his shoulder, then flipped off the light on heading out the door. He locked the door behind him, stuffing the keys into his pocket and pushing his hair out of his eyes. The two brothers then headed down the hall. Charlie flashed Don an apologetic smile.

" Sorry about that. I _was_ paying attention to the time, I swear, then Amita comes in and we start talking about this theory that half the time I don't even get but find it fascinating all the same..."

Don smiled and laughed quietly. " Charlie, relax, it's okay. No big deal."

Charlie flashed another sheepish smile. " You keep saying that, you know. How it's no big deal? I mean not just about stuff like this... but, you know, with picking me up and all when dad can't."

Don shrugged. " Well, it isn't a big deal. I don't mind, Charlie. I really don't."

" I'll probably be using my bike again next week. I just need to make sure it's working right."

" Well, whenever you're ready. Like I said, I don't mind, and neither does dad."

They fell into silence. Don looked over at his brother. Charlie was staring at the floor trying to hold back a troubled expression and failing miserably.

So this is a brooding silence, Don thought. " Charlie look at me."

Charlie snapped his head around, meeting Don's gaze.

" You're not thinking about what you better not be thinking, are you?"

Charlie furrowed his brow in confusion. " Huh?"

" About being afraid all the time?"

Charlie looked away again. " Oh, that." He shrugged uncomfortably. " Maybe a little..."

Don draped his arms across Charlie's shoulders. " Charlie, after all the crap you went through, I would think you'd finally get it through your head that a coward wouldn't go looking for his attacker, carrying an unloaded gun despite the fact that you hate guns."

Charlie opened his mouth, about to respond, but couldn't so snapped it shut. There was no arguing with that logic, even though Charlie had yet to fully understand for himself why had done what he had done. Megan had tried to explain it in psychological terms, but when it came to the psyche and human behavior, Charlie was genuinely stumped, and only frustrated Megan with his many questions.

Don believed Charlie did understand why he had sought out Leon, but refused to admit it to himself or anyone else because it had been such an illogical action.

Like Don and everyone else kept trying to tell Charlie, human nature was not always logical. Even Charlie's human nature.

They headed outside into the bright day. The campus flowed with students and professors going in every possible direction, some hurrying and some taking their time, conversing in groups. Don led the way to the car, and when they arrived Charlie waited patiently as Don unlocked the doors, then slipped into the passenger side. Don climbed in and reached for his seatbelt.

" How did you know?" Charlie asked suddenly. Don clicked the belt into place, then stuck the key into the ignition.

" Know what?" The car rumbled to life.

" What I was thinking?"

Don grinned, pulling out of the parking lot. " Charlie, this may come as a shock, but I do get you sometimes."

The comment elicited a smile from Charlie.

Truthfully, Don probably got Charlie more now than he ever had before. It was one of the small, near-invisible changes, and Don didn't think it too bad.

The End

A/N: That's all folks! And thanks a billion for reading and leaving comments. I really enjoyed writing this, despite it being a little tricky in parts. I hope you like this ending, I always have trouble with endings. If I'm not careful I tend to keep going, and going, and going... You get the idea.

If I ever do another Numbers story, it probably won't be for a long while, unless I decide to do a one-shot. For now, I'm returning to doing something for CSI NY. I don't get plot bunnies, I get plot piranhas, and one is about to gnaw my leg off if I don't follow up on the story I've been outlining.

Also, has anyone seen the show Night Stalker? The new one on ABC, not the old episodes. It's not up on Fanfiction yet, which is very frustrating. I have a story for it, and nowhere to post it! Unless I should just post it on the place for the old episodes. What to do, what to do...

Acknowledgments, because it's cool to be acknowledged. Thank you all! Hugs and candy all around: (sorry if I don't mention everyone. So many names...)

16forever

Chaser 1

Charlies-anomoly

Seether 79

mt. suz

Radioactive Raccoony

Jessica

kokomocalifornia

leoloco

merryw

bree1387

cylentwind

Alice I

TheDudeLordOfFantasy – You and Alice I, thanks for pointing out the flaw in chapter five. You saved me from kicking myself numerous times.

Shoey

If I spelled anyone's name wrong, I apologize. But I think you all know how spell check can be. I swear it corrects words even when you don't want it to.


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